DC - Remastered Edition
by Sir Lucifer Morningstar
Summary: A young man from earth is reborn into the DC universe with the powers of the gamer. Except, the circumstances of his reincarnation, are less than satisfactory. Dark Fic. DarkGamer!Fic. Eventual Antagonistic!Gamer.
1. Prologue

**A Gamer DC story - honestly there are too few of those. This is my own spin on it, darkly done, of course.**

 **WARNING! You are reading a work written by the devil. M - Rated, possessing crude language and scenes, character death, murder, torture, and other possible acts of depravity. Not for the faint of heart, easily offended, or pussies.**

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

I would have preferred it if my new life in a new world had started off great.

"Oh, god yes! Harder! Harder!"

Being the child of a twenty year old nymphomaniac hooker, was arguably not the best start to a new life.

"Oh, yes! Oh yes you filthy whore – take my – what the _fuck?!_ There's a goddamned baby in here!"

I was surprised he noticed my presence, being silent in the crib as I was.

"Oh, that's – ah – just my – oh fuck – bastard son. You let them take off the condom once, and you get nine months of pain and a crying shitbag for it."

Ouch. I had unusually thick skin, but that had hurt, even by my standards.

"You're a _sick_ woman."

"Pft. Coming from the sleazebag fucking me? Save your morality for your paraplegic wife."

And then came the slaps. I would have sighed if my babyish lips were capable of doing it. Honestly, I thought she would have realized after the sixteenth time someone smacked her in the eye that it did _not_ pay to be a smart ass when you were, in plain terms, a simple hooker.

The beating ended, and a rather angry customer stormed off, though, not without at least tossing a fat stack of bills into the woman's face.

"This is for the kid. With any luck, he'll live long enough to put you out of your misery."

"Oh, a cheater with a conscience! Call the fucking Daily Bugle!"

The door slammed shut, and once more, a pair of angry eyes turned into my direction.

"This is all _your_ fault you know."

Actually, I was sure it was due to your own poor life choices, but, sadly, I could not speak, and thus, I said nothing.

"Get pregnant for a while they said – customers are into the breast milk fetish they said, it'll boost your average rates by over a hundred percent they said!" She growled, before, I once more heard the sound of liquid pouring into glass, and three guesses told me what it was.

"If only I'd gotten rid of you sooner – but no, I let you stay long enough, just long enough for any sort of procedure to get rid of you guaranteeing my death. Fucking hell."

She gulped down the drink, and once more, I remained silent, listening to her swallow down what sounded like three full bottles.

"But", she said, her voice slurring slightly now, "At least – you're good company. You don't cry much – and though the diapers costs a small fortune, and your shit stinks up the place – you're good. You a good baby."

I felt a pair of hands lifting me out of the small crib, allowing my eyes to truly focus on the blonde hair and cobalt blue eyes of the woman in front of me.

"Heh – it's just you and me versus the world – fuck everyone else – fuck everything else – you – baby, you get me. You – you're still here, you'll be here for your mama forever – and I – I won't… let… anyone… take… you…"

At least, she had the decency to place me back into the crib, before collapsing into it. Her open breasts were exposed, and I knew, that unless I wanted to die, I needed sustenance. And so, I ignored her snores, sobs, incoherent mutterings, as my lips gathered around her suckle nipple, and I fed.

Had I been any ordinary child, any ordinary baby – I would have long since died from starvation and malnutrition, if not from the fact that my mother smoked and drank heavily, and it was clear in the acrid taste of the milk.

But I wasn't, and so, instead, I survived.

And I intended to continue surviving.

Through any means necessary.

* * *

 **DC - Remastered Edition**

* * *

Belatedly, I knew, or I realized, that the reason I had not yet completely freaked out or gone insane or lost my mind at the lifestyle which I now lived, was due to the **Gamer's Mind** skill. Likewise, the reason why I was not yet dead, was due to the **Gamer's Body**. It was with these skills alone, that had aided me enough, so I could crawl on all fours by six months, and I was finally capable of walking at only one year old.

I knew which world I was in, as it was hard not to, considering that I had heard the name of my city loud and clear, and unless there was another Gotham City that existed somewhere in the world, then I could not be mistaken.

And considering the current state life, which would one day be considered as my 'backstory' I would either become a great villain, or a great hero. For _some_ reason, I was leaning towards the former.

"Oh! Great job Isaac! You're a really smart boy!"

I smiled at the woman on whose lap I sat, as I solved basic arithmetic I could have completed in my sleep, and made her look at me with something akin to admiration.

This would have been such a great, or normal moment for a child, had we not been in one of the back rooms of a strip club, and the woman in question wasn't skimpily clad in a mini-skirt, topless, and did not have a roll of weed in her left hand.

But at least _,_ she wasn't named _Chastity._

"Thanks Auntie Purity!"

…Shut up.

"You know, I think your mother really ought to put you in school. You'd really blow them all away with that brain of yours!"

There was a snort, which came from another stripper who had entered the room at that moment. So much boobs and skin right in front of me, but unfortunately, my body was not sexually mature enough to have a reaction to any of it. Didn't that suck?

"You know why Eva won't send the brat to school. All it'll take will be one person figuring out what or _who_ his mother does for a living before child services come knocking at her door."

The woman sneered at me. "If it were up to me, I'd have dropped you off at the nearest orphanage right after your birth."

"Ugh! That's just rude!" Purity said.

The woman flicked her eyes to her. "As if you wouldn't have done the same. How many abortions have you had Purity? I stopped caring to count after the seventh one."

"That doesn't mean you can talk to him like that, or tell him straight to his face! He's just a kid!"

"And the sooner he learns how shitty the world is, the better." She snarled, before, I felt a hand grabbing me, forcing me off Purity's lap.

"Hey – where are you taking him – sto–"

Her protests were cut short, as I was forced through the strip club, before I stood behind a curtain, the woman's sharp fingered hands slamming down unto my shoulders.

"Look – over there –"

I did.

I saw my mother.

"There – that's your mother, riding a pole and making men hard just to get some cash. You see it? You see how well she does that? Well, remember it. Remember that. Because after she leaves here, some of those men are going to be fucking her hard, for some more cash."

There was a sneer in the woman's tone, and, idly, I wondered why she was showing me this. Wasn't she also a stripper?

"That cash is barely ever enough for her, but she splits it in half for you as well, starving and getting skinnier just so you can eat. Fucking more and more men than even she can handle just to make sure you don't starve."

Oh.

"So brat, you better remember, and you better be grateful."

The gripping weight on my shoulder slowly left.

I barely noticed when the woman had left, instead, my eyes were still focused on the woman in front of me. The woman who, now that I realized it, was twenty-one, the same age I had been before I had died. She was a child by all means, young, very, very young.

And her skin shone with sweat, her breasts and nipples heaved in the air, a metal pole pressed against her legs and thighs, as she shot out a sultry look to a group of men disgustingly older. Their applauses and catcalls were dulled in my ears, as I gazed upon the woman, and slowly, steadily, my lungs burned and a thick heavy lump buried itself in my throat.

I would only later realize, that this burning sensation, was _anger_.

 **MISSION UNLOCKED!**

 **Pulling Your Own Weight!**

 **Your mother is a young, talented, and extremely beautiful woman, who is wasting away her life as a cheap stripper and hooker in Gotham City's slums, and is barely making enough for herself, let alone for the both of you. Help her out by attaining enough money to steer her off this path of life, and truly become a better person.**

 **Objective: -**

 **Attain $100,000 Dollars via any means necessary**

 **Bonus Objectives: -**

 **Attain $250,000 Dollars**

 **Attain $500,000 Dollars**

 **Attain $1,000,000 Dollars**

 **Time Limit:**

 **Before your mother turns Twenty-Five**

 **(Four Years)**

 **Rewards:**

 **10,000 EXP**

 **Additional 25,000 EXP Per Bonus Objective**

 **Increased Standards of Living**

 **Greatly Increased Reputation with your Mother**

 **Greatly Increased Affection with your Mother**

 **Accept?**

 **(Yes)**

 **(No)**

Taking a deep, filling breath, I hit the accept button without a single regret.

Four years? They gave me four years to make a hundred thousand dollars? I actually chuckled under my breath.

No. I could not stand this sight for that long. I would make that money in the next _one week_.

Had I been any other person, any normal child, this would have been an impossible task, but, I wasn't. I had the brain of a twenty-one year old from a different dimension, from a dimension in which granted me knowledge about some of the secrets and details about the world I was currently in. With this knowledge, there would be nothing that would stand in my way.

In a world where gods walked the earth as mortal men, I would become a legend.

And I would do it –

For my mother.


	2. The Road to Hell

**Yo. Back. First and foremost -**

 **HOLEY SWEET BREASTS OF MARY - this has almost a 50+ faves and follows!**

 **Also, tranmutshion reviewed! Was inspired by your fic bro - thanks for giving this one a quick look.**

 **And now, my thanks -**

 **AceSpeedNinja: I feel cool that you love the story bruv! Thanks for the review!**

 **HPfan7-8: You read my mind bruv. You know we going there!**

 **Nemesis Lyonner: Nah bruv. Incest is not Wincest in this case - but fear not, DC has tons of other girls available.**

 **Mr Beaver Buttington: Cringey it may be bruv, but it is what it is - I'm not out really for fame, I'm just out to have a good time writing. Those who turn away? Well, it's their loss bruv!**

 **LKMoneyboy1: Thanks for giving this story a look bruv! Totally appreciate it.**

 **Karuma012: Well, if this fic ever goes past the deep end, you can be guaranteed I'll make it an interesting dive bruv!**

 **MKaius: Wasn't joking about it being dark bruv, cause I wanted people to be tots aware of what they were getting into.**

 **Gingi71: Thanks for giving this fic some luv! And double thanks for the review bruv!**

 **ONWARDS TO DARKNESS!**

* * *

 **Dc - Remastered Edition**

* * *

"Oh, FUCK YES!

I realized, that getting my mother out of this life might be a little bit harder than I had originally anticipated.

"Harder! Harder!"

I pinched my nose and resisted the urge to sigh, as a literal motherfucker held her against the bathroom wall. My mother was an _actual_ nympho – and she _enjoyed_ having wild, vivid and rampart sex. She _enjoyed_ her sensuality. She _enjoyed_ stripping. This of course meant, that even I if I _did_ eventually make a million dollars and moved us into the finest areas of Gotham City, she probably would come back here out of nostalgia.

Still, the goal was the same. Make money first, and then, try to find a way to… curb, her slightly crazed tendencies.

"UGH! You're done already? What the fucking hell was that?"

"Damn it woman! That was the third round this night!"

Some words and tirades followed, and of course, once more, the man stormed out, hastily adjusting his belt and pants, his eyes flicking over to me for half a second. My eyes strayed over to the top of his head, where the relevant information about him was.

Mr. Kingsley, Police Officer, Level 14.

Well, who was I to judge – Police Officers also needed some stress relief, especially in a city like Gotham. His eyes immediately turned away, and he continued his march, grumbling underneath his breath about one thing or the other about 'insatiable women'.

"Alright Zacky-boo, time to head home."

A hand gently landed on my shoulder, as my mother came out of the restroom. A lit cigarette in one hand, blonde hair tied into a girl-next-door ponytail, which of course made the stripperific outfit she wore all the more sensual.

"Did you 'member to wash your hands?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Zacky, I did."

"With soap?"

"The bathroom's all out of soap."

"There are three new soap dispensers."

"They must be busted," she said before stopping, "And how'd you know that?"

I shrugged. "I look, and I see things."

She gave me a flat look. "Cheeky."

"Hands. Wash."

She threw the said appendages in the air. "Fine! Fine! Christ! Who's supposed to be the child in this relationship anyway?"

She turned back inside, and I resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, I allowed my hand to flash out to the small pocket in her skirt, subvocalizing _Inventory_ , as she continued without notice.

 **From using dexterous speed of fingers to take an item out of your mother's pocket, your Dexterity has gone up by 1!**

 **From deftly pilfering the pocket of an unsuspecting target, the skill, "Pickpocket" has been created!**

 **Pickpocket (Active) Lv. 1**

 **(Imagination Skill)**

 **Hijack an object and place it directly into your inventory, absolving you of any physical evidence of the theft – become the ultimate Pickpocket Legend!**

 **Grants a 10% Speed Boost per Level**

 **Grants a 10% Efficiency Rate per Level**

 **Grants Dexterity Stat Increase Every Ten Levels**

 **[Note: This is an Imagination Skill, meaning, the levels can be tremendously boosted, or even maxed at once, depending on how imaginative you are with the usage. Imagination Skills can be upgraded or used in nearly all situations.)**

My first skill, I noted, with some small amount of amusement. Still, the Gamer abilities I had were more or less a means to an end, the end which was of course, taking care of the troublesome woman that I could finally hear using the dryer.

Strange, she was the same age as me when I had died – twenty-one. Old enough to no longer be considered a teenager, but young enough to not be fully considered an adult. In a weird sense though, I felt as though she was younger than me, even though she was supposed to be my primary caretaker.

"There – all squeaky clean Mr. Germophobe Junior. Happy?"

I nodded.

"Now, let's –" she paused. Tapping her back pocket and slowly developing an increasing frown.

"Something wrong?"

She frowned. "I can't find my cigarettes."

I shrugged, deliberately averting my gaze. "Maybe you're all out?"

"No way – it was a fresh pack!" she growled "It must have fallen when I was –"

"Being screwed against a wall?"

"Language."

"Sorry. I meant, being _fucked_ against a wall."

I received a 'love tap' on my forehead for the cheek, wincing at the **–4HP** notification that came with it.

"You're not supposed to know those words until you're at least twelve – or fourteen at best."

It was _extremely_ hard to stop myself from the incredulous look I gave her.

"Use." She amended. "You're not supposed to _use_ those words until then."

"You use it all the time."

"Only for business." She paused. "And pleasure." She frowned. "Or when I'm pissed. Or happy. Or excited. Or – okay, yeah, I use it pretty much all the time." She gave a sheepish smile. "But! I'm an adult! I'm _allowed_ to use those words. Good little children aren't supposed to know those words."

"I'll keep it in mind when good little children are around."

She rolled her eyes, again. "Cheeky."

"I get it from my mom."

She pinched my cheeks. "Too cheeky. It's both adorable and annoying at the same time."

I pulled away from her pinch, before huffing and making a show of storming off forward. "I'm not adorable! I'm a man! A man! If I wasn't reincarnated into this body, I'd be trying to hit on you right now!"

Of course, she laughed. "Sure thing kiddo. I understand it's natural to want to be with your super mom – but don't you start with that reincarnation story again."

My mother, she wasn't dumb. She knew, even though she never mentioned it, that I was smart and astute for my age, far more than I had any right to be. Most one year olds were out there babbling and failing to learn how to form coherent words and sentences, and I was capable of holding my own in an intellectual debate with someone twenty times my own age. She'd mused about it once, lamenting and wondering how lucky, or unlucky she was to have such a 'gifted' child – and I had told her straight to her face that I was reincarnated. Of course, she laughed and ruffled my hair for it – thinking it another 'cute' quirk.

To an extent, I was somewhat glad that she didn't believe me. Yet, at the same time, I wanted to help her – to tell her that she could be much more, but she would not listen to advice from a 'child'.

"Come on Zacky, let's head to a burger joint – unless, you think that we shouldn't eat the meat, cause the cow is your best friend reincarnated." She snickered, and I resisted the urge to sigh, while at the same time savoring a small amount of relief.

At the very least, she had forgotten all about her cigarettes for the day. And though, as it was, I could not undo any lung damage she had most likely accumulated beforehand, I could mitigate any future damage by making sure she never bought another pack of cigarettes in her life.

It was a relatively small change – a very minor one – but it was these minor changes that made all the difference.

* * *

 **7:41 AM**

It was Sunday morning, a day and time in which my mother didn't have to go to 'work'.

I rolled my eyes at the sight of the woman who had cuddled up beside me in nothing but her lingerie, her blonde hair in a scattered mess, and a small amount of drool seeping out from the side of her mouth. She was anything _but_ a graceful sleeper.

Sighing, I made to roll out, only for her hand to wrap around me even more fiercely, and push me closer to her. I couldn't _easily_ get flustered, thank GM for that, and I was fortunate enough to not have developed sex organs that would correlate with my brain, as such, I found the close embrace more annoying than anything else.

A little bit of slight work on my end, and I wrestled free from her slumbering grasp, hearing her let out a half-addled groan of disappointment.

 **From sneaking out of your mother's grasp, your Dexterity has gone up by 1!**

My left eye twitched slightly at the notification, before I shook my head and then turned my gaze back to our lovely… 'house'. The apartment, if it could even be comfortably called that, was not all too bad, aside from the moldy walls and slightly leaky ceilings which had not yet been fixed, and the fact that there were public transport buses that were larger than the small cubicle of a room – but, it wasn't all _too_ bad.

There was only one bedroom, the one which my mother and I shared, there was the bathroom and toilet, again, only one, and then there was the living room/kitchen/dining room, in which everything else happened. I took a cursory glance around the bedroom, rubbing my nose in irritation as I begin the task of picking up her strewn clothes and arranging her boots and other accessories into the closet for her.

 **From properly arranging clothes and other household items, the skill, "Housekeeping" has been created!**

 **Housekeeping (Passive) Lv. 1**

 **Grants a 10% Speed Boost per Level to the completion of cleaning and chores**

 **Grants a 10% Efficiency Rate per Level to the completion of cleaning and chores**

 **Grants Dexterity Stat Increase Every Ten Levels**

 **Unlocked "Household Weaponry Martial Arts!"**

 **Unlocked "Improvised Weaponry Martial Arts!"**

Apparently, swing my mother's D-cup bra around my hands like they were nunchucks and I was Bruce Lee, counted as improvised weaponry.

Seems legit.

I ensured that I had completed the menial task of cleaning, before I turned my attention immediately towards the kitchen.

Opening the fridge made me to grimace slightly at the near-empty nature of it, with just a few eggs, a half carton of milk and a few can of beers being inside it. I turned my direction up, to one of the higher drawers, and frowned in annoyance when I realized I couldn't reach it. I tried a simple hop, and then, once more, I hopped.

 **From utilizing a hidden skill in your abilities, the skill "Double Jump" has been created!**

 **Double Jump (Active) Lv. 1**

 **Outwitting the Mario Brothers has never been easier, with the nifty ability to jump once more, whilst you are already airborne, by creating small, invisible pockets of air underneath your feet for further ascension!**

 **Grants doubled jump height every twenty levels.**

 **Note: Your Dexterity relates to the jump speed, angle, and height.**

So, by the time I maxed out the skill, I would be able to jump five times higher than the average human being? Well, that was nifty. Still, my temporary goal of reaching the high cabinets was completed, with me opening it, double jumping again, and then latching on to it, as I pulled myself up to see what was inside.

A half empty box of Corn cereal and a near empty-tin of instant oatmeal. Simply fantastic.

Sighing regardless, I grabbed the two items and placed it on the kitchen counter. The total sum of the items in front of me, six eggs, half a carton of milk, half a box of corn cereal, and almost empty tin of oatmeal, brought my mind back to the issue at hand, the issue of getting enough money to stop my mother's… "business."

The burning anger I had felt had eventually cooled down, and with that cooled anger, returned my ability to reason – my ability to think clearly and objectively.

Becoming a Legend was an interesting prospect, a prospect which I had realized was counterintuitive to my goals of making my mother happy and _safe_. Superheroes or supervillains had a history of loved ones being held hostage (Lois Lane), or murdered (Jason Todd), or mutilated (James/Barbara Gordon), or worse – and that was the last thing I wanted for my mother.

No – being a superhero or a supervillain would get her killed, one way or another.

I was not willing to take that risk.

Instead, I would focus purely on getting rich, rich enough to live a life that would make it seem as though the Kardashians were starving street performers in Syria.

Of course, as geared up as I was, I realized that I actually had no idea as to how to go about legitimately getting large sums of money, in _legal_ ways. I didn't want to suddenly become a criminal, even a minor one, because I didn't want to end up running into the God-in-bat-suit that was known as the Dark Knight, and have me on record forever. As a one-year old child, I'd obviously get some leniency, but this was entirely dependent on the severity of the crimes I'd have committed in order to gain money.

My body entered auto-pilot as I climbed unto a stool and began preparing the corn cereal for myself, and the oatmeal for my mother.

 **From lighting the fire to cracking an egg, the skill, "Homestyle Cooking" has been created!**

 **Homestyle Cooking (Passive) Lv. 1**

 **Grants a 10% Speed Boost per Level to the creation of food and drinks**

 **Grants a 10% Taste Quality per Level to the creation of food and drinks**

 **Grants Charisma Stat Increase Every Ten Levels**

 **Developing Food Quality rapidly increases affection and reputation with all characters**

Another passive skill and drawn my attention, and this, combined with the memory of the housekeeping skill, gave me an idea to seek some form of employment as a cleaner or cook. Of course, I realized that this would never work because no one would want to hire a one year old to do anything like that in this country. Almost made me miss the backwards third-world country that was my home in my past life. "Street-Hawkers" they'd call them, underage children selling candy and fruits on roads and highways.

Shaking my head to stir away the old thoughts, I realized that my only viable non-illegal option, was to use my Gamer's Ability, and rely on drops from fighting monsters or enemies. A few hours of grinding and slaying monsters should help me rack up several thousands of dollars.

Except, I was in the body of a one year old.

I could walk and run, and I could even manage some few dance moves, but anything more complicated and requiring more finesse than that, I was not ready for. Which meant, as I was, the only thing I could possibly beat or kill, was other one-year old infants, or maybe a few three and four year olds as well. And _obviously_ , that was not a viable way to make money.

The eggs sizzled idly in the pan, as the realization that completing the quest in the one week I had previously claimed – was… impossible.

Even the criminal means were somewhat impossible to properly attain – picking pockets would never make me a millionaire, I could not rob a bank or even a candy shop without the person I was robbing laughing their ass off at best, or asking me where my mommy is at worst. Let's not even discuss anything more complicated like fraud, money laundering, extortion or betting. Who in their right minds would let a one-year old kid close to anything of that nature?

The only possible avenue I could think of was shoplifting – that is, stealing items using my inventory, because they would never be able to realize that I was actually stealing anything, when it was stored in my own personal dimension. Except, that plan also had hiccups, in the fact that my face would be on camera, and there was no way I could 'hide' the theft of an item on camera.

Unless of course, I disabled all the cameras before hand – which came with its own set of problems.

Still, four years was a lot of time in which a lot could happen.

Such as stat increases, which, not that I thought about it, I had almost forgotten about.

"Status."

 **Name: Isaac Zachariah Cabrera**

 **HP: 100/100**

 **MP: 100/100**

 **Level: 1**

 **Age: 1**

 **Race: Human (Homo Magi)**

 **Occupation: Civilian Child**

 **Title: N/A**

 **Current Alias: N/A**

 **Aliases: N/A**

 **Affiliations: Cabrera Family, Gotham Nightlife Association**

 **Base of Operations: Gotham City**

 **Alignment: Neutral**

 **Identity: Unknown**

 **Citizenship: American**

 **Education: N/A**

 **EXP: 122/1000**

 **Money: $0.93**

 **ATTRIBUTES**

 **Strength: 4**

 **Vitality: 6**

 **Dexterity: 9 (+20)**

 **Charisma: 2**

 **Intelligence: 4**

 **Wisdom: 4**

 **Luck: 7 (+50)**

 **Status**

 **Buffs:**

 **N/A**

 **Debuffs:**

 **N/A**

 **Foils:**

 **(Abject Poverty: Immensely Reduced Standards of living)**

 **(Child of the Slums: –50% Reputation Gains with Rich or Wealthy Characters –25% Reputation Gains with Middle-Class Characters, +10% Reputation Gains with Poor Characters)**

 **(Tragic Origin Story: +50 Luck, +50% Random Encounter Rate of the Heroes/Villains of the world)**

 **Boons:**

 **(Mother's Flexibility: Adds +20 to Dexterity)**

 **(Raised by Strippers: +35% Reputation Gains with Women, +60% Resistance to Seduction Tactics, +60% Boost to Dancing and Seduction Skills)**

 **(Red Light Child: +65% Reputation Gains with Strippers, Prostitutes, Call Girls, Drug Dealers, Pimps, Bouncers, Thugs and the Criminal Underbelly)**

 **Bio**

 **Isaac "Zack" Cabrera, is the son of Eva Cabrera, a relatively young stripper and prostitute who was originally the part of the small mobster group, the Cabrera Family. After witnessing the death of all her extended and nuclear family members by the hands of Carmine Falcone, Eva dove into a life of hedonistic pleasure, eventually becoming a nymphomaniac and alcoholic, with no regard for her life or well-being, until the birth of her son – a reincarnated college student from a different dimension. Zack's goal is to ensure that he manages to put his mother's life back together, stop her from prostituting and stripping, get them out of the slums, and ultimately, have a better life.**

That… was…

My mind had momentarily for a brief second blanked out at the information that was presented to me, as my gaze flickered over to the bedroom, where the silent snores of my mother could reach my ears. I hadn't known, or even realized, that she had been part of a crime family – a family which had been destroyed by Carmine Falcone.

She was the last member of her family – spared, or escaped from death.

There was no information about me, about who had put me into this world, or reincarnated me for whatever reason, and instead, I found myself not questioning or having a problem with that, but instead, a burning sense of anger and indignation swelled up within me again.

 _Carmine Falcone_.

The Falcone Family. I knew from different iterations that this family was one of the major crime gangs in Gotham, and that the leader, was a nasty piece of work, who, despite the absence of any supernatural power or quirk of insanity, was one of Batman's constant foes.

There was a sensation drawing up in me, compelling me and telling me that I should take vengeance, vengeance for the grandfather and grandmother and uncle and cousins that I had never known, and would never know thanks to his machinations. Yet, ironically, if not for his actions, the odds were that I would have never even been born in the first place – as my mother's life would have continued as normal, and the odds of meeting whoever my father was, would have never occurred.

The kettle whistled. Steam rushed out of cooking implement, and it drew my attention back to breakfast I was making.

I didn't remember who I was, back in my old life. The memories were slipping, like smoke, or like trying to remember a particular dream that you just had. My original name, my parents or my siblings – if I had any – were all wispy in my memory. However, things, places, events, other information from video games and anime, it was there, forefront at my brain, accessible and fresh.

Maybe that was why I felt strongly for Eva – because I could not remember who my first mother was. I could not remember if I even _had_ a first mother, or if she had not died when I was little or divorced. As far as I knew, my mother, here, was the only woman that I could and had ever called my mother.

Hence, those people that had died, where, in fact, my family.

And Carmine Falcone, had killed my family.

 **Revenge Mission Unlocked!**

 **Blood is Thicker**

 **Carmine Falcone and the Falcone Family completely wiped out most of your family. It is only fair that you return the favor.**

 **Objective:**

 **Kill the Entire Falcone Family, down to every last henchman, every dog, every goldfish, and every unborn child.**

 **Bonus Objectives :**

 **Do Not Get Caught**

 **Only Reveal Your Identity to Carmine Falcone in his last moments**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Time Limit:**

 **As long as the Falcone Family lives**

 **Rewards :**

 **$75,000,000**

 **Falcone Family Territory**

 **Massively Increased Reputation in Gotham**

 **Massively Increased Influence in Gotham**

 **Massively Increased Reputation with Villains of Gotham**

 **Massively Increased Reputation with the Gotham Underground**

 **Massively Decreased Reputation with Heroes of Gotham**

 **Massively Decreased Reputation with Gotham Police Force**

 **Unlocks: Mafia Operations**

 **Unlocks Achievement/Title: The Godfather**

 **Failure :**

 **Possible Imprisonment**

 **Death**

 **Accept?**

 **(Yes)**

 **(No)**

"Deep breaths. Deep breaths. No going all 'avenger' mode. You don't have red spinning eyes."

Kill _everyone_? That was – well, that was a bit _too_ much. There were probably some henchmen who were in it because they had no choice, or some innocent women who were coerced into his syndicate – I couldn't just _slaughter_ all of them like I was Sasuke-fucking-Uchiha on a revenge spree. Besides, this wasn't my fight – Batman would eventually bring Falcone to justice, sooner or later.

 **You have declined the Revenge Mission.**

 **Note: Due to the extended time limit on the mission, the mission has been stored in the Codex Library, and you may choose to accept it at a later time.**

I highly, sincerely doubted it – but still, I suppose having the option was good… just in case. Ignoring that rather grim mission, I turned my attention back on to something else which had drawn my curiosity.

 **Race: Homo Magi**

Alright, so I hadn't imagined that. Homo Magi… _something_ tells me this has to do with magic. Still, just to be sure, I attempted to push the words and see if I got a reaction.

 **Codex Information Insufficient!**

Well that didn't work.

 **Tutorial – Codex Library**

 **Collect Books, Scrolls, Parchments, Statues, Totems, and other various items in order to further increase the amount of information available in the Codex Library. Additionally, certain courses or subjects in colleges or High Schools respectively, can aid in rapidly increasing the amount of information available in the Codex Library.**

 **Also, speaking with relevant characters and attaining new information from them can also update the Codex Library, and grant you access to new powers, abilities, special gifts and talents.**

 **Please note, that once you have read a book, watched a scene, witnessed or participated in an event, it can be accessed and revisited at any time via the codex library, stored for as long as possible via virtual medium.**

Ignoring the ridiculous potential possessed by the ultimate cheating tool in my possession, I rubbed the sides of my head and pinched my nose out of habit. It was a habit that I had whenever I found myself entirely too surprised or overwhelmed by something. Of course, my mind was clear and wasn't overwhelmed by any of this in the slightest, but none of these things particularly helped me in becoming the world's first, self-made, one-year old millionaire.

And of course, my attention was focused on the "Foil" which was –

 **(Tragic Origin Story: +50 Luck, +50% Random Encounter Rate of the Heroes/Villains of the world)**

What.

My life wasn't _that_ tragic, was it?

Sure I was poor, and my mother was a stripper and hooker, I had no father, I didn't have any friends or acquaintances my age, and I hadn't yet attended school because my mother was scared that child services, however shitty they were in Gotham, would take me away once they realized my horrible living conditions –

But, I usually spend my time in an adult strip club and I've seen more live strip shows, sex and blowjobs than most men would ever get to in their lives, the women gave me sweets and treats, and sometimes Aunt Purity and a bunch of them would give me lessons on how to 'please' women, teaching me awesome tongue and fingering tricks and letting me practice on them. How was that tragi–

…

Oh.

Well… fuck.

 **For realizing the true nature of the strippers' "lessons" you have gained +2 Wisdom!**

I felt like slapping myself. Of course, in hindsight, 'teaching you how to please women' sounded like a perfectly logical excuse to let a kid give you cunnilingus and finger you – but they _were_ good lessons about knowing key sensitive spots in the female anatomy. Of course, I was not a child, I was a twenty-one year old man in a child's body – so it didn't really count –

Did it?

Probably yes, according to my gamer system.

Huh.

"Eat your fucking heart out Bruce Wayne." I growled underneath my breath, "You'd have died at six fucking months old if you were to have lived as me."

 **From successfully completing a dish, Homestyle Cooking has gone up by 1!**

The smell of perfectly fried eggs, and the aroma of oatmeal wafted around the house, and I immediately took a tray, before placing the two bowls on the tray and entering into the bedroom.

She'd wake up sometime past noon, eventually, considering the all-nighters she had, and the possibility that she might have also had sex which could have possibly tired her out even more.

I covered the bowls, before I returned into the kitchen and turned my attention back to the box of cereal.

"Gamer's Body should help me out here…"

I placed it in a manner that would make it look like I had eaten out of it, so my mom wouldn't be worried when she eventually woke up and felt bad that I did the cooking and didn't eat anything.

I _technically_ didn't _need_ to eat, as long as I slept, I would always wake up at full energy. Of course, she didn't know that. Too bad she didn't have a camera recording the place, otherwise I'd never get away with it.

 _BAM! BAM! BAM!_

I grimaced at the sound of heavy pounding coming from the door.

"Oi! Eva! Come out here right fucking now before I bust this door down!"

I immediately moved over to the door, utilizing _Double Jump_ to aid me reach the bolts and click them open. I had barely finished before the door swung open, and I was greeted with the sight of a boar of a man.

 **Landlord**

 **Mr. Gabe**

 **Lv. 7**

The man's eyes shot into the room, his mouth opening, until he could find no one at eye level, and then his face twisted into confusion, before his eyes eventually strayed downwards.

"Oh, it's you – brat."

Part of me wondered if it was the " **Red Light Child** " boon that was responsible for how the man's face seemed to soften at me.

"Where's your mother boy?"

"Mommy's not in."

"Not in?"

"Not in." I repeated.

The man's gaze turned to me, looking slightly leery.

"You're three months overdue on your rent boy. You know what that means?"

I tilted my head innocently. "That I'll be sleeping in the gutters soon?"

To his credit, he only managed to look _somewhat_ off put by the blunt truth.

"That isn't up to me boy. It's up to your mother to hand me my fucking goddamned cash."

I frowned. "How much does my mommy owe you?"

"This isn't the type of debt that you can pay off by washing my car or picking up after my dog –"

"How much?"

He stopped, rubbing his thick, alcohol stained beard with hand and his potbelly with another, as his gaze turned even more suspicious in my direction.

"Six hundred bucks."

Was that a lot of money? Was it a small amount? Was he pulling one over me? Hell, I didn't know. I wish I had been an American in my past life so I'd at least have a proper understanding of their prices and living standards, but I wasn't, so I'd have to take his word for it, until I knew better.

"I'll get it for you."

A thick, heavy snort was the response.

"Sure kid, and tomorrow, it'll rain diamonds."

He wasn't taking me seriously. Of course he wasn't. If I were the one in his shoes, I wouldn't take me seriously either. Hence I turned my gaze on the man, and focused.

 **From close and careful analysis and observation, a new skill has been created!**

 **Gamer Vision [Active] Lv. 1**

 **The Mystical Eyes of the Gamer, the ability to read the lives and contents of souls and objects at a single glance, gathering their deepest fears, strengths and weaknesses to use or abuse as you so desire, all as if reading it straight from a videogame screen.**

 **More information about targets will be unlocked as the skill levels up.**

 **All information witnessed with Gamer Vision is catalogued and stored in the Codex Library for later viewing.**

I was expecting the 'Observe' skill, but I supposed this Gamer Vision was my variant. Rather than complaining about it, I instead turned my vision 'on' and cast my gaze unto the man in front of me.

 **Name: Gabriel Norris**

 **Level: 7**

 **Age: 31**

 **Race: Human (Homo sapiens)**

 **Occupation: Landlord/Retired Bouncer**

 **Title: Landlord**

 **Bio**

 **Gabriel Norris, or just 'Gabe' as he has come to be known by several of his tenants and clients, is the thirty-one year old owner of the Blue Light Apartment Complex. He is a proud, hot-headed man who secretly dislikes Eva because he is attracted to her, and knows that he will never be able to sleep with her. Despite this, he has a soft-spot for children and people in unfortunate circumstances, and has a six year old daughter who was taken away by his ex-wife due to fear of his temper and alcoholism.**

Well, that explained a lot.

And no, Gabe, you're not coming within six feet of my mother.

"I'll get the money for you by Friday. If not – I'll get something else for you."

He sneered. "And what exactly can a brat like you get someone like me?"

"Some alone time with your daughter."

It was a good thing that I could always go back and re-play this moment, when a man who appeared outwardly to be something else, changed and shifted, his eyes gaining clarity, his back standing straighter, and his nose flaring as his brows contorted.

"You – you –"

"You miss her, and you care for her." I said, doing my best to smile. "I know, getting her to you isn't money, and it won't pay our rent – but – I think seeing her again… it should be worth more than six hundred dollars."

I wasn't sure how long we stood there in silence. His gaze met mine. It strayed. Everywhere and anywhere but on me – it strayed. The sound of feet shuffling eventually echoed, as did the sound of delayed movement and breaths.

"Friday."

I nodded.

"Friday."

His large arm slammed the door shut.

And I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

Holy – had that actually worked?

 **From finding a suitable solution to a problem utilizing your abilities, your Charisma has gone up by 2!**

Yes, yes it had.

I wasn't sure which would be an easier task – getting six hundred dollars before Friday, or looking for, and finding Gabe's daughter. Oh, and of course, you know, getting her to the guy without the wife ever being the wiser.

"You, and your big, dumb, mouth."

Well – looks like I was going to have to get money anyway, so –

"Shoplifting it is."


	3. Seeing the Humor

**Yo peeps. I'm back. Now, do remember that tis a dark fic - so I'll just go out and put some warnings to weed off people who might be 'triggered'.**

 **WARNINGS: Gore, Sexual Content, Crude Language, Implied/Actual instances of Rape, Pedophilia, possibly Xenophilia and Bestiality considering certain shapeshifting/alien/supernatural characters, Torture, Inhumanity and what not. You're reading this at your own peril mate.  
**

 **Also, fun fact: I just realized why you rarely ever find good fics for the Justice League/DC Universes featuring OC's or Gamers. This world is _fucking large_! I mean, damn. Imagine blending the Witcher 3, Skyrim and DA: Inquisition, and you'll have an idea as to how intricate and complex the DC - Universe is. It's amazing how character and plots and locations intertwine and weave! Like damn!**

 **Of course, it also means that you'll have _zero_ idea as to how to progress in the midst of all this information and lore. And you know - you'll have to come up with your own plot instead of following a set one like in most other fics.**

 **It's a challenge I'm fucking loving.**

 **But I've ranted a little bit too much - lets get on with the story yo!**

* * *

Gotham City was a dangerous place.

"Please! HELP! SOMEBODY!"

I made it abundantly clear to avoid turning my gaze and attention towards the sounds of the screams. It was a Sunday Morning, and, amidst the other civilians and pedestrians who were walking to or from their varied destinations, I was not the fool who was going to play hero. When full grown men and women merely increased the briskness of their gaits, taking their time to agonizingly ensure that they did not look in the direction of the alleyway. Sure the feminine screams were annoying and somewhat grating, but, of course, I knew it would only be a matter of time.

Yup. Cue the idealistic hero charging down the alleyway in hopes of stopping what he probably assumed was a poor woman being raped.

"You – _GURK –"_

The world's supply of altruistic people was once more chipped off.

A woman in a trench coat emerged from the alleyway, suspiciously smiling, before putting her hands in her pockets and walking away. I shook my head at the sight, letting out another sigh before I continued moving along. I had a convenience store to go shoplift from.

My small, childlike form walking around the streets without any form of adult supervision had clearly drawn some surprised looks and stares, but ultimately, no one in this city was bothered or invested enough to approach me and ask why. I supposed it was one of the few reasons that I truly enjoyed this place. Other than the constant nature of the cloudy skies which meant that Gotham never, _ever_ got sunlight, and the stone gargoyles which hung on the tallest of buildings, looming down upon the mortals beneath as supposed protectors of evil, I would say that Gotham's ambient 'you-live-or-die-on-your-own' attitude resonated with me. When a city was steeped deep in corruption and crime and violence, the citizens and average folk had evolved to learn that it was never best to look too closely at things, and it was _always_ best to mind your own business.

A lesson which, if not learned, would mean ending up lying in the ditches in some empty alley, bleeding out, and wondering how your desire to help had led to your untimely demise.

A major reason as to why Gotham seemed to be so horrendously bad, was of course, the lovely Batman. I had no idea how old he was supposed to be as of now, but I had begun hearing of him, being spoken by the angry and wrathful customers of my mother's workplace who ranted as to how their "Bat problem" was causing them to lose on their "legitimate" investments.

However, as it stood, Batman primarily operated in Gotham City at night. It was his M.O. which struck fear and panic into the hearts of villains and criminals alike, because they would never know when the dark shadow above them would morph into a dark bat ready to render 'justice.'

It was for this reason, that many criminals, both petty and grand, had moved their operations towards the _day_.

I knew for a fact that Batman still had to work as Bruce Wayne, and contrary to how the movies and books or shows portrayed it, there was _no way_ the C.E.O. of an important company like Wayne Enterprises would just 'delegate' all his duties and responsibilities to someone else, without either losing faith from his board and employees, or utterly sending the entire company crashing.

Hence, Batman could not truly be as active in the day as he was at night.

And the ratio of daylight crimes _skyrocketed_ once people realized that the Batman only went hunting once the sun came down.

I had realized that this was one of the aspects that most of the numerous franchises failed to mention or incorporate, or perhaps they did, and I was not simply knowledgeable enough to know.

 _People adapted_.

They weren't the dumb, idiotic, one-dimensional villains and mooks that would continue to follow a pattern and stick with it regardless of the better alternatives. No. They were multifaceted beings capable of coming to their own conclusions and realizing their limitations – as all humans are. Adaptability is the sole reason we as a species have continued to evolve.

The Dark Knight's crusade to end all crime in Gotham city was a laughable quest. He was in essence, attempting to use anti-biotics to cure cancer. Beating up and locking up the crooks didn't truly dissuade them, instead, it only thought them how to be _smarter_ , and how to _avoid_ running into the Batman next time.

Ganged up on a poor defenseless girl with nefarious plans in a dark alleyway at night, only to find yourself beat to a pulp by the masked crusader?

Next time, they'd use chloroform or drug the girl first before she could scream and gain anyone's attention, and then commit the deed in a hidden location.

Got busted for trying to burgle a jewelry store at night?

They'd come back during the day dressed in an elegant suit, a mask, and pointing an SMG at the cashier, while wisely telling them that they dared not trigger the silent alarm you saw in your previous attempt.

Thrown in the slammer for supposedly committing arson?

They'd set up their explosives a few days earlier, get into a slight or minor altercation and be arrested, and then watch and snicker as the fire starts and they have a near-airtight alibi as to why they could not have been the one who started it.

In essence, Batman was causing the criminals to _evolve._

Batman was making _better criminals_.

It annoyed me, personally, and I wondered if the idiot even realized what his actions were doing, or if he _did_ , but insisted that he continued to 'fight crime' under some misguided notion of pride or purpose.

I shook my head as I ultimately strolled through the Department Store that was quite a reasonable distance away from my house. Of course, by reasonable distance, I was talking the distance of about twenty blocks, which, so far, my legs had walked and made me feel as though I had been trekking for an eternity.

So… what to steal?

My eyes turned to the left. There, standing, was a refrigerator. Within, bottles of chilled liquor, ranging from brands like Guinness to Jack Daniels, stood, uniformed. Side by side, with a small layer of glazed frost over the glass, they beckoned.

Beside the refrigerator, crates of cans of beer. Neatly packaged in four-rows, waiting and expecting to be purchased.

My eyes flickered over to the right. Aisle six stood, with cooking equipment, toasters, microwaves, pressure cookers, blenders, pots and pans.

Behind me, a rack of sunglasses. Beside the rack, cheap, easily made, hats and baseball caps hung quietly. To the right of that, lay an area for jeans, T-shirts, and clothes that were made more for practical purchase reasons than for any sense of fashion. Then, finally, behind that, was a display case for faux-golden wristwatches, and Made-in-China Rolex knockoffs.

I couldn't take everything. There was no way that they would fail to notice the significant number of items gone missing. Instead, I needed to weigh my options to figure out which of these things would be the best ones I could steal and pawn off to raise six hundred dollars. The liquor was probably one of them, the microwaves and cooking equipment were another, and the wristwatches would be a third and final option.

I decided that the wristwatches would be the best bet, they were small and inconspicuous enough, and then the liquor would be the next thing I could go for. I highly doubted that people would fail to notice a missing microwave.

My feet moved over to the display case, my eyes roving over the different collections and sizes, for men, women, and people of unfortunately diminutive heritages.

All I would need to do, would be to extend my hand out, and put it into my inventory.

Yep.

That was it. Simple.

Seconds ticked by as I continued to stare.

It was an easy task, no one was looking in my direction, and there were far too few people here to notice the theft.

Yet, I stood.

Fake silver and phony gold stared up at me, the seconds of the clock ticking in reminder of the non-stationary nature of the universe. My eyes could see them, recognize them, understand the value of them, realize the importance of them. My hands and fingers however, were magnetized to my sides. It was as though there was a kinetic force compelling them to refuse my mental commands to rise and pilfer.

Why?

A spark of emotion followed. Irritation, I could recognize with ease, annoyance came second, the two primary entities which were the inhabitants of my subconscious.

 _Why?_

It's just pickpocketing, my mind rationalized. There was no need to be overly dramatic about it, and almost everybody had done it at one point or another.

 _You need this_ , my mind tried again, harder, when my hands still rebelled against it. _You need to steal this to get money, to become rich, to help your mother, to pay off your debts._

And what would you say, when she eventually asks you how you got the money?

Lie to her face?

Tell her the truth?

To tell an explicit lie about something like this, it would be the start of the deterioration of any form of trust we have.

To tell the truth, would be to admit to theft and stealing.

 _What does that matter? She sleeps and strips with men for money!_

The illegality of prostitution aside, there was the clear fact that this was a trade. It was an exchange. A service for a sum. She had not earned the money dubiously, she had worked hard to get it. Many would agree that a prostitute was somehow better off than a thief.

 _YOU! NEED! THIS!_

The problem with this method of thought, I knew, would be when it would become my growing alibi for the fractured moral compass I would gain. I would shoplift with the justification of necessity. When things got harder, I would commit burglary with the justification of necessity.

From there on, the spiral continued and never ended. Blackmail, extortion, drug running and smuggling, armed robbery, grand larceny, human trafficking, and eventually – murder.

I would justify it all as a necessity.

Would I eventually justify rape as a necessity too?

I took in a deep breath, shaking my head to clear it. A snarl escaped my lips without me ever intending to, I could feel how my facial muscles contorted into avatar of disgust and uncertainty. Why had I chosen now, of all times, after walking twenty blocks, after making such badass claims and boasts, why had I chosen _now_ , to develop a _fucking_ moral compass?

It was stupid. Naïve. Absolutely ridiculous.

I could watch people get murdered and assaulted without batting an eyelash, yet, the thought of entering into the world of crime made me hesitate. Gotham City was _not_ a place for bleeding hearts who were unable to do what needed to be done. It was not a place that would reward you for your humanity and munificence. No. It was a place that would tear you down to shreds, rip asunder any guise of innocence and goodness, and leave you feeling like an orange sucked dry from the lips of a parched whore.

 _DO IT!_

 _JUST DO IT!_

 _WHY WON'T YOU DO IT?!_

Some people would claim that you could become a petty criminal all your life and never kill or get into anything serious or major. There were most likely individuals in the world who fitted that description. However, _I_ knew that it could not be the case for me. Games advanced and progressed, and being a Gamer, any criminal activity I partook in would eventually lead to a serial escalation, _no matter what_.

 _Shoplifting?_ Oooh! Take this nifty skill and quest that will improve your skills and make you the best! Oh, you could even upgrade this into direct armed robbery!

What if I got a skill for murder? A skill _particularly_ designed just to kill people in the most imaginative ways possible like I was in a hack-and-slash game and being awarded style points?

Or what if I unlocked some eroge feature that needed me to rape as many women as possible to gain experience points and level up faster?

Would I decide, _then_ , that there was a line that should not be crossed, or would I bite down on my lower lip, steeling my mind to the fact that I _needed_ the benefits, and as such, it was a _necessity?_

"Fucking hell!"

I found myself turning around, ignoring some of the stares I drew from my potty mouth, and immediately rushing out the door of the convenience store.

Good and evil were arbitrary, and there was no definite source on what morality was or should be. My standard however, was simple: Don't do anything to others that you wouldn't want done to you.

I wouldn't want to be killed, or burgled from, or sexually assaulted, or sold into slavery, or blackmailed, so, why then should I do the same thing to anyone else?

At the same time, there was the realization that just because humans did not eat lion meat, did not mean that a lion would spare you the same gesture should you encounter one. In essence, _any_ and _all_ of those things could happen to me, whether I liked it or not, or whether I did it or not.

"Gods I'm such a fucking pussy."

Where was my spine?

Where was that grit and determination that said I would do _anything_ for my mother?

Where was the arrogant claims of becoming a legend in a world of gods?

It was always easier said than done, apparently. I let out a bitter chuckle. If I didn't even have it in me to shoplift, I would have to kiss my beautiful dreams of saving my mother from this hell-hole goodbye. I would have to live in poverty, and watch the _only_ person I cared about in this world continue to live miserably, because I didn't have it in me to do what needed to be done in order to change that.

"Hey there little guy!"

My self-loathing was cut short. My gaze turned upwards. Nelly, Lv. 6, Donahue's Convenience Store Employee.

She – she followed me? Had she discovered what I had intended? No – it wasn't possible, I was certain that I had been careful, certain that I ensured I did not give away my intent – but then, why did she –

"Are you lost? Where's your mommy?"

I blinked.

Oh. That's right. I'm a toddler.

I resisted the urge to palm my face. Of course – I was a toddler. Being a child was so far shaping up to be one of the most irritating experiences so far. In her eyes, I was just a lost little infant who had no clue as to what he was doing.

"Fuck off."

I was already irritated at this point, and did not even bother attempting to maintain any childlike façade.

"Wow – that's quite the potty mouth you got –"

"So fucking what? Are you going to bend me over and spank me for it?"

Nelly frowned. "O-kay, wow, even I don't think _I_ have a mouth that dirty."

"Maybe if you blow me, you can get the firsthand experience."

Silence.

"Wow. That was actually a pretty good comeback."

I stared, exasperation clear on my face.

"You're not good at taking a hint are you?"

"Maybe."

I stared at her for a second, before feeling a bit of my anger simmer down.

"Alright. What's your gimmick?"

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"What are you, kidnapper, organ thief, drug dealer or child predator?"

" _Excuse me?"_

"This is Gotham City. If you live here, and you run out to help every kid you see – you'd be dead already."

"Well that's a rather cynical worldview."

I snorted.

Four seconds reached on the silence afterwards, which was the starting point of its awkwardness.

"You're a child predator aren't you."

The silence stretched on.

"Just. Fucking. Great."

* * *

"You know – gagging me was _completely_ unnecessary. Tossing me in the trunk even more so. I could have just sat in the back or something. Oh, and I hope you're not planning on ransoming me back to my family afterwards – trust me, you'd _probably_ be hundred times richer than my mom is. Hell, you have a _car!_ "

I'd always pictured being kidnapped as a slightly more harrowing experience. Perhaps it was because I already had a jilted perspective to the world, or maybe it was just the Gamer's Mind which was capable of making me feel relaxed as the woman in her late twenties, Nelly, proceeded to lift me out of the back of her sedan.

Rather than agonizing over my fate, I blinked, staring up into the night sky with the realization that it was already dark, that my mother would probably be throwing a tantrum looking for me everywhere, and wondering if this kidnapping counted as a random encounter.

 **Random Encounter –** **The Kidnapping**

 **Details: ?**

 **Completion Rewards: ?**

 **Failure: Death**

Well, wasn't _that_ convenient?

"You're a horrible conversationalist, you know."

The woman ignored my words throughout as she made her way towards what seemed to be an apartment. Her apartment complex was _way_ out of the way though – on the outskirts of Gotham City and almost entering into Bludhaven, and it even looked abandoned. The only reason I knew this of course, was the nifty map which was always in the corner of my vision, that I could bring up any time I wished. Fortunately, the map also contained a 'trail' showing the direction I'd travelled, which meant that getting back home wouldn't really be an issue.

"I mean, aren't you supposed to be buttering me up or trying to make me have Stockholm Syndrome or something?"

Again, the woman was suspiciously quiet as she opened the door to the apartment complex with a swipe of a card.

"Also, quick question, is it the sight or the feel of tiny dicks that get you off, or is it just the concept of having some form of power over a male? Because if it's the latter, you can always just use your fingers – probably more pleasurable that way."

Again, she seemed to _not_ want to give me a retort. I would praise her willpower, for that at least.

Until she unceremoniously dropped me on the ground.

– **3HP!**

"Ouch! That hurt! Please don't tell me you're into BDSM – that would be a _major_ deal breaker."

I could make out a small briefcase on the floor. I rose my eyebrow, doubly so when the woman began to unceremoniously strip.

"You're lacking in poise. Tuck your stomach in more and let the clothes fall off you like you're made of butter and oils. Bounce your breasts a little bit more – oh, and don't forget to twirl your hips – you're a young woman, not a paraplegic gymnast."

 _SMACK!_

– **22HP!**

"Shut. Up."

I blinked. There were still some stars in my vision, alongside the resounding static in my ears that accompanied the slap.

So. Things are getting serious now.

I stared in confusion, wondering why, after completely stripping, she put on a red hooded robe.

 _Don't fucking tell me –_

 **Gamer Vision** flared to life.

 **Two-Bit Occultist**

 **Nelly Patterson**

 **HP: 700/700**

 **MP: 300/300**

 **Level: 19**

 **Age: 29**

 **Race: Human**

 **Affiliations: Gotham Magical Underground, Gotham Black Market**

 **Base of Operations: Gotham City**

 **Alignment: Evil**

 **Occupation: Occultist**

 **Identity: Unknown**

 **Citizenship: American**

 **Bio**

 **An eager and greedy cultist desperate to rise through the ranks of the magical community, dabbling in occultism and rituals which uses the innate youth and vitality of young children to increase her magical prowess and revitalize her own youth. She sucks their souls dry via any method of hedonistic pleasure, leaving them as empty husks for the accomplishment of gaining enough power to accomplish her ultimate goal – serving the interdimensional demon, Trigon.**

 _FUCK._

This was _bad. Badbadbadbad!_

I watched, from my spot on the ground, as the woman began lighting candles in the dim apartment room, immediately drawing my attention to the red, five-pointed, hexagonal looking _thing_ that was painted with what could only be dried blood on the floor.

Why in the world was I running into psychos like this so soon? Why couldn't I start my way up in this world with slighter milder villains like Toy Man or Black Mask? Why did I have to find a bloody _Trigon Cultist?_

How the hell in the world did this woman even _know_ of Trigon? My knowledge was sketchy – but should that have been possible?

Oh, wait. That's right. Raven's mother – Arella – was originally an inhabitant of Gotham City in some iterations. She'd been amongst the group of occultists that were planning on summoning the devil – and one thing led to another, Trigon showed up, she fucked the closest guy to Satan, and bam, Raven was born.

 _Fuck._

 _Fuck you – Gotham City_.

 _Fuck. You._

– **4HP!**

– **6HP!**

– **8HP!**

I continued to methodologically slam my head into the floor.

 _FUCKING IDIOT!_

There I had been, too chicken to simply _shoplift_ – questioning the morality and _decency_ of a never-ending spiral.

The _fucking_ good that did me now!

Had I merely stolen what I needed and bolted, I would not have been around long enough to have run into this _crazy_ woman, and I would not have landed myself in a situation where I was going to be the main ingredient in an evil magical ritual.

But noooooo!

I just _had_ to uphold moral standards!

I grit my teeth hard enough to notice it chip my HP bar.

Then, I took in a deep breath.

And I exhaled.

My eyes, as they were, narrowed in focus.

Agonizing over past mistakes was pointless. Now, the only thing left was to move forward. I would take this experience as a form of divine intervention on my part, as a constant reminder to the moments of weakness and hesitation, as an ever-present souvenir of the day I decided to put moral 'good' over my personal benefit.

I would not make that mistake again.

 _Ever._

I instead focused on getting free. My hands were tied behind my back with duct tape. Likewise were my legs. I could squirm and turn and wiggle a little bit here and there, and for once, I was glad for having my mother's flexibility.

Nelly the Occultist continued working on her preparations in favor of ignoring me, and it suit me well enough. With my back on the ground and my hands tied under them, I brought my legs up, closer, and closer until my knees were against my chest and my feet were touching my forehead.

Then, I sprung.

The kick-flip I pulled successfully got me into the air, but I wasn't done yet.

' **Double Jump** '.

Interesting thing about the ability to jump while already in the air – I could _choose_ the direction in which I wished to jump in. Essentially, the skill gave me an invisible platform to jump in any manner and direction I so wished, essentially defying gravity and laws of momentum.

Which was exactly what I did, lunging _forwards_ towards the direction of the unsuspecting woman.

' **Gamer's Body –** don't fail me now!'

Her back was turned. I was accelerating at height level. Hence, I tilted my head back as far as possible, and let it _rip_.

 _CRACK!_

– **32HP!**

 **INITIATIVE ATTACK!**

 **Dealt x8 Damage!**

 **CRITICAL HIT!**

 _GODS IT HURT!_

Had I been a normal child, there was no doubt in my mind that my skull would have shattered from the force I had put in the flying head-butt. I wasn't however, and other than the initial pain, my skull was none the worse for wear.

The same could not be said for Nelly however, as I had smacked her straight in the back of the head, and the unexpected blow had sent her tumbling to the ground with a slight amount of blood now coming from the wound.

My body had barely landed on before I continued.

' **Double Jump!'**

Tiny feet went up into the air, as high as about six feet, before coming down on the back of the woman's skull with a sickening crack, burying her face into the wooden floor.

' **Double Jump!'**

Again.

' **Double Jump!'**

' **Double Jump!'**

' **Double Jump!'**

The skill leveled up fourteen times.

I continued, endlessly, only stopping when I could feel a distinct wetness and sogginess at the bottom of my shoes. I was somewhat hesitant to look down, before I crushed the urge, and stared.

Blood and mushed brain matter; barely a head left on the woman.

I gained a healthy new level of fear for the Super Mario Brothers.

 **Random Encounter Completed!**

 **The Kidnapping!**

 **You have gained 5650 EXP!**

 **You have leveled up!**

 **You have leveled up!**

 **You have leveled up!**

 **You have gained new items:**

 **Tome: The Secrets of Magic!**

 **Totem: The Sex Vampire!**

 **Item: Voodoo Doll!**

 **Skill Book: Beginner Voodoo**

 **Codex Entry on Homo Magi updated!**

 **Codex Entry on Trigon updated!**

 **Codex Entry on The Arts of Magic updated!**

I watched, with some sort of awestruck fascination, as the rewards and 'drops' gathered around the dead woman.

 **Would you like to dematerialize the vanquished foe, or harvest the corpse?**

 **(Dematerialize)**

 **(Harvest)**

I stared at the corpse. At the magical circle. At the blood which flowed and ran freely from the dead body. From the body of the woman _I_ killed.

There was no revulsion.

There was no guilt.

There was no sense of strange anguish.

I had killed someone, and yet, all I could feel about the entire experience was…

 _Dissatisfaction._

It had been easy. Too easy. So ridiculously easy. It felt like it was _truly_ a random encounter, like as though I was the Dragonborn in Skyrim who was being attacked by a bunch of vampires and bandits who did not realize that they were mere cannon fodder.

The woman, Nelly, had probably not even seen the killing blow coming. She would probably find herself in the afterlife, with a mix of confusion and uncertainty as to how she got there. Here I was, standing victorious, killing her despite my hands and feet bound with duct tape, and being given the option to turn her into particles of light, or use her body any way I wished.

I laughed.

I found myself laughing without even realizing I was doing it.

I laughed at the ludicrous nature of it all. At the strange, near anticlimactic victory. At the odd, now absolutely insane fact, that less than a few hours ago, I could not even shoplift, and now, I had committed murder.

I laughed, and with my laughter, came a realization.

This world… the fanciful world of superheroes and supervillains –

It was a nightmare. A nightmare designed to make everyone crazy. A nightmare that had demons and space beings and aliens and gods –

And this nightmare, was now my reality.

I laughed.

 _Isn't it funny?_

 **XXXXXXXX**

Gabriel Norris was not a man who was often easily intimidated. At the same time, the Landlord was not someone who usually expected people to meet and surpass his expectations.

Both of those thing happened, at the sight of the boy in front of his door. The boy, who was so young, yet, whose eyes possessed a dangerous, blood-curling _mirth._

As though the universe and all within it, was but a mere _joke_.

"It's not Friday yet."

Thick wads of notes slammed into his hands.

"No. It's not."

He counted, silently.

"This is three times more than what I asked for kid."

"I know."

Gabe frowned. "Paying the rent up front are you?"

The boy said nothing, instead, he just kept staring at him with those weird, mirthful eyes.

"I thought –" Gabe hesitated, "I thought you were going to help me. Reunite me with my daughter."

The boy smiled.

"So did I."

He turned around, laughing.

The sound of the laughter would come to haunt Gabe for many, many nights.


	4. Magic and Sanity

**Quicker update than usual, folks. Cause it's about time we get shit moving!**

 **Also, to coldblue2015, thanks for the long review bro! But, the story cover image is a Tokyo Ghoul one because that's my user avatar, not because the story has anything to do with cannabilistic vampires. But now that you mention it though...**

 **Hopefully, this chapter will answer many of the questions you've been wondering about, and I will take the suggestions into consideration. Thanks mate!**

 **Let's go!**

* * *

I wasn't insane.

To imply insanity would be to mean that I was not in control of my mental faculties, and consequently, I was a bundle of indistinguishable instincts like some human personification of the Freudian Id. Gamer's Mind did well to prevent that I would not truly go insane, not have my mind shatter from stress or horrific realizations, and would instead, function optimally.

There would be no 'Why so serious?' questions coming anytime soon I'm afraid.

Instead, I had merely been struck with an epiphany. A realization as to the somewhat humorous situation I found myself, to the life I found myself, and to the world I found myself. It was hilarious, the level of danger inherent in it, the level of chaos and insanity –

It was just all too damned funny.

And now, I was in on the joke.

I had been trying too hard to make sense of this universe. To look at myself from the outside of it, to try and consider myself a spectator in the grand scheme of things. Except, I wasn't. As far as I knew, I had no magical plot armor in the form of a billion dollar suit or fancy alien genes that could absorb sunlight. I was in essence, the ruler and maker of my own destiny and fate in this bizarre world were gods looked on demurely at the actions of humans, like an amused parent would watch a child splatter paint all over their clothes.

Well _fuck that_.

Fuck it all. Everything about this entire situation and arrangement. Everything about this world that expected me to play by the rules and become subsumed under the universe, becoming nothing but background noise in the musical pitch of existence.

No. I was going to _live_ in this world damn it. I was going to _live_.

This was a world where both heaven and hell were most likely real. I already knew that heaven was a pipedream, but when, _if_ , the moment came when demons began to claw at my eternal soul and drag me to the lower depths, I would be prepared to go down laughing, I would be prepared, to give the middle finger to both the guys on top and the ones below, and I would be the one, ultimately, who would make them realize that it was a grave mistake to have allowed my existence on this god-forsaken universe.

"Zack honey… um…"

The sound of my name drew my attention, leading me to turn my gaze towards my mother. She stood, awkwardly, in her brassiere and a pair of boxer shorts, her blonde hair tied into a ponytail.

"You've been… cleaning rather… extensively."

I stared at the house, the small apartment to which I would call my residence of living from now to the nearest future. It was spotless. Tables were reflective, showing my own visage in their polished sheen. The floors shined as though someone had lathered olive oil on diamonds. The chairs produced a sheen that would easily be mistaken for the vibrant fur of a majestic animal in the wilderness. The kitchen area shone brightest, with the counter capable of imitating the squeaking noises of a mouse should one's finger be dragged atop the surface.

"Is something wrong with that?"

I needed to channel my anger and newfound determination somewhere. As it was, my body wasn't sexually mature, and hence, finding a sexual outlet was a moot point. There was no real form of physical training I could undergo for now, and considering my future plans for dabbling in magic, the physical training would be entirely redundant. Similarly, there was no napalm or Molotov Cocktails available for me to go out and blow shit up.

So, I worked with what I had. A wild, untamed frenzy of cleaning, with the goal of making every single square inch of the corporate hamster-box cubicle that was my home absolutely spotless.

"Well no, not really." She said, tentatively, before raising an eyebrow. "It's just – you go missing all day yesterday and now today you come back and start cleaning the entire apartment?"

I rose an eyebrow. I sincerely hoped she was not implying what I thought she was implying.

"I'm a year old."

"Ah – but one cannot ever be _too_ young to start inviting girls."

Of course it was what she was implying. I rubbed my nose. Other than food, alcohol and money, the only other thing that seemed to be on my mother's mind was sex. Constantly. Repetitively. I could not count the number of times that I had heard her wake up in the middle of the night, when she thought I was fast asleep, and then make her way to the bathroom. The buzzing sound of her favorite tool and the gasps and moans would have given her away easily if her sloppy excuse for stealth hadn't. The woman would and could literally spend hours in there.

The only benefit however, was the fact that she had wizened up to the knowledge that I would not tolerate her 'entertaining' guests over here. I would make it _incredibly_ awkward for all the parties involved by walking into the room with an empty popcorn bag, sitting down, and gesturing for them to continue.

After the first three times, she got the message.

"I'm cleaning the house to level up my Housekeeping skill. It's actually at Level Ten by the way. Tons of man hours tossed into it."

She rolled her eyes at me. "I just wish your 'respect mother' skill would level up along with it."

"It's locked unfortunately. The requirement states that I'd need a mother actually worthy of respect to unlock it."

Eva made an exaggerated clutch at her chest, and I, merely shook my head and ignored her dramatics. Of course, I had bluntly told her to her face that my life was a videogame with skills and stuff. And, just exactly with the same scenario about my reincarnation, she only gave me a blank stare and a large chortle, rubbing my head and calling me adorable.

Technically, I had never lied to my mother. Even when it was for her own good, I would generally use half-truths and misdirection than telling an explicit lie. It was not my fault if she did not choose to believe the truths I told her, however exotic and far-fetched it sounded.

"You know, I _am_ kind of worried about how morbid your imagination is getting," she moved over to the couch, plopping unto it. "I mean, getting kidnapped by a pedophile cultist who wanted to mount you and drain your soul to fuel her magical powers in worship of an interdimensional demon? That's a little out there for you Zacky."

I shrugged.

"You forgot the part where I killed her by double jumping on the back of her head."

Eva rolled her eyes. "Like the Mario Brothers."

"Exactly like that. If you know, the Mario Brothers ever got an M-Rated game."

She sighed. "Somehow, I feel your obsession with adult content is slightly my fault."

I gave her a long, piercing stare.

"Okay, maybe more than _just_ slightly."

The stare continued.

"Fine, fine, it's _entirely_ my fault! Jeez! Stop with the staring already." She tossed a pillow in my direction, which I effortlessly dodged anime-style with a slight tilt of my head.

"You know, this was _so_ not what I was expecting when I became a mother. I was expecting diapers and nappy changes and crying – not someone who makes _me_ feel like a child in comparison."

I rolled my eyes. "I could always take a crap in my pants and suck off your nipples if it'd make you feel better."

"Er – no – actually, I'm good."

I blinked, before turning to her. "That's right – your breasts should technically still be capable of producing milk."

She gave me a weird look. "Yeeees? Why?"

Should I?

Shouldn't I?

Fuck it. I wanted to do it.

A large grin came on my face as I began making groping gestures with my hands.

"Milk time."

Eva gasped, covering her chest.

"You're not coming anywhere near my babies!"

"Woman," I said, deadpan "I am your baby."

"NOOOOO!"

It was a match which I knew that I could not truly win, with her being larger, bigger and stronger, but it was merely the fun of it which I enjoyed. It was utterly strange how I gained satisfaction from groping her breasts – even though my body could not gain any sexual satisfaction, and my mind knew that as long as we were biologically related, anything sexual was out, but I enjoyed grabbing the soft bags of flesh anyway, and listen to her squeal.

It was… fun.

It also helped remind me of what truly mattered.

"Haha! The nipples are mine! VICTORY!"

* * *

"Zack honey, I'm off to work!"

My mother, clad in her work clothes, which most people would consider a 'lack of' work clothes, kissed me on the cheek as she sauntered in her high-heels and short skirt towards the door.

It was there, bubbling at the back of my mind, with a triumphant rage like that of a wild and territorial black bear facing a silverback gorilla. The realization, that my mother would be ogled and watched by a bunch of men with boners in their pants, all eagerly licking their lips in order to have sex with her.

Gamer's Mind helped me in forcing it down and putting on a manageable smile.

It was only a matter of time. A matter of time before I changed that.

"I'd been trying to get you a babysitter but…"

I rolled my eyes. "…but we can't afford one anyway and you feel I'm smart enough to stay home on my own."

"Or you'd probably drive the babysitter to question their existence in the grand scheme of the universe."

"That too."

She smiled.

"Stay safe!"

"Shouldn't _I_ be the one telling you that?"

She pouted her lips at me. "Well I'm not the child in our little relationship."

"The ratio of laundry done and meals cooked would disagree with that."

She coughed slightly, her gaze turning away. "Er…"

"Just be back by eight. Anything later and you'll be skipping breakfast."

She gaped at me.

"Zaaaackyyyy-booooo –"

"You'll be late." I said, waving "Now shush and be gone – I need to go pick up your discarded stockings and make the bedroom spotless again."

There was some light-hearted grumbling about obsessively-compulsive and bossy children that didn't have any real heat to it, and the door eventually closed with a silent click. I had waited, to assure with all certainty that she was gone for the evening, before I took in a deep breath.

" **Codex Library – Entry: Homo Magi.** "

 **Codex Entry – Homo Magi**

 **The Homo Magi are a race of humans who are bestowed with the capacity and the capability to perform great magical deeds and feats. This comes from their ancestry being part Atlantean, as their ancestors possessed the mystical powers and magic of the great civilization of Atlantis, although it should be noted that not all Atlantean's had this ability. After the initial fall and collapse of this civilization before its eventual re-establishment (Required Entry: Atlantis), numerous Atlanteans moved unto the mainland, wherein they married, interbred and reproduced with normal humans who were often unaware as to the exotic heritages of their partners. Through centuries and generations of evolution, the strong capacity for magic left in these long lined descendants eventually set them apart from regular humans who possessed no real affinity for the arcane. Hence, they became known as the Homo Magi.**

 **The Homo Magi are capable of casting spells and using magic in means that would be unavailable to normal humans. Using artefacts, tomes, or items greatly doubles the strength of the Homo Magi's base magic, and they are also capable of casting without the need of a foci, simply by drawing forth from the pool of magic within them.**

So I was special? Amusing. It was amusing, the way I felt that being a Homo Magi was no different than being a white-belied ant in a sea of termites. I mused over the information presented to me with a cursory and dismissive glance. Had this been years ago, or maybe even yesterday, I would have been soaking up the lore like a dry sponge in a succubus household during mating season. As it was however –

I really didn't give a shit.

The 'lore' of this world, was no less 'lore' as it was instead, an encyclopedia of things that were dangerous and capable of bringing my mortal peril. Demons, poltergeists, myths, folktales, strange glowy rocks – all of it would be a plot element or another that would have me encounter another one of the sociopathic individuals who believed vigilantism was a valid method of attaining peace. Or worse, the psychopathic ones who were created as a result of aforementioned beliefs.

Still it was information. Information was always useful in one way or another.

" **Codex Library – Entry: The Arts of Magic**."

 **Codex Entry – The Arts of Magic**

 **Magic exists. It is real and differentiated from science or from any form of pseudoscience. That is to say, magic is not merely some form of advanced technological process which could be deciphered by beings possessing higher technological prowess. Magic supersedes all forms of laws and conventions, it possesses no rules nor natural place within the universe and is not bound by reality. Feasibly, magic has no limitations, and is generated from outside space and time to go against the fundamental structures of the universe. Magic is unexplainable, impenetrable, arcane, and it simply –** _ **is.**_

 **Hence, it is for this reason, that there is a burden or a great cost required of those who dabble into magic. The requirement may be physical, mental, or psychological – as magic does not give freely, and in exchange for turning the fundamental laws of the universe into a lump of clay, the user must pay this price.**

Ah, here it was. The bullshit factor that usually existed as a means or plot element to prevent wielders of a certain power to use their powers to the fullest and be guilt-free about it. Devil Fruits had water, Tailed Beasts had the potential of going berserk, as did Visoreds – Vizards? – or you know, the Eight Gates and death. Shit, I used two Naruto references – needed an equalizer… er… damn, there was nothing.

Regardless, the point was that this 'price' I would no doubt have to pay would come at some great cost. Most people would brush it aside and say that they had nothing to lose, but I wasn't that stupid or naïve. Often times, it would ironically come back to bite me in the ass and have something to do with my mother, which, was the last thing I wanted to happen.

Bah! Enough of the warning labels!

Now, how exactly did I begin to molest reality like an unwilling schoolgirl?

I could almost picture Reality-chan with a red face, whilst black tentacles representing my magic began to encroach in on her.

I was not insane.

I wasn't.

Really.

 **Codex Information Updated!**

 **Homo Magi –**

 **As you have now unlocked the secret of your heritage, and now possess knowledge on the arcane, you can begin your journey into the world of the supernatural, by selecting the magical branch you wish to follow.**

I rose my eyebrow.

Magical branches?

 **Codex Entry Unlocked: Magical Divisions**

 _ **[You may only select one at this time.]**_

 **Ritual Magic: With the subcategories of Alchemy, Nature Magic, Blood Magic, Soul Magic and Necromancy, this branch of magic has often been outlawed, and is frowned upon by several in the magical community. Arguably amongst the strongest kind of magic available, ritual magic encompasses voodoo, blood sacrifices, and other ritualistic elements which directly draw power from the blood and souls of the creatures or people sacrificed. These can be used to greatly imbue the magician with strength, stamina, life-force, and enable greater magical power and might. The stronger the quality of the blood and/or soul of the individuals used, the more powerful this magic, and in turn, the caster.**

 **Carnal Magic: Subcategories include Illusion Magic, Healing Magic, Pyromancy, Cryomancy and Telepathy. Fleshly consummation and sex is more than just a physical act, but can be seen as a joining of souls, bodies and energies. Hence, this branch of magic focuses on possessing numerous sexual partners willing or unwilling, from which, after intercourse, the magician drains a portion of their life-force and converts it into highly potent magical power for use. Essentially, humans, animals or any creature capable of sexual intercourse are living batteries to which Carnal Magic draws its energy. The more passionate and primal the sex, the greater the magical potency and power – however, those who the caster has copulated with, will be drained, physically, emotionally, and sexually, not unlike the unwitting prey of a vampire.**

 **Patron Magic: Possessing as many subdivisions as there are deities, gods, beliefs and cosmic beings, Patron Magic enables the caster to gain access to far more powerful means of spellcasting by merely pledging their eternal soul to a god, deity, pantheon, religion, or cosmic being. Alternatively, making pacts with demons or angels will gain access to Patron magic, at the small price of your eternal soul and subservience to your benefactor.**

 **Artifact Magic: A less powerful, but similarly less costly form of ritual magic, where rituals are replaced with artifacts of power or influence. Often not considered a 'true' form of magic, and often used by non-Homo Magi, this form of magic centers around the use of spell books, tomes, trinkets, and other magically imbued items in order to cast spells and perform various feats. Often considered one of the weakest forms of magic, except in rare cases where the Artifacts are (Legendary), in which, it can become the strongest.**

 **Inverse Mantra Magic: [LOCKED] Requires: Level 25 or higher, Maxed Reputation with a member of the Zatara Magic Family.**

 **Dimensional Magic: [LOCKED] Requires: Level 50 or higher, Knowledge and Access to alternate dimensions.**

 **Chaos Magic: [LOCKED] Requires: Level 70 or higher, title of "Lord of Chaos"**

 **Order Magic: [LOCKED] Requires: Level 70 or higher, title of "Lord of Order"**

 **Cosmic Magic: [LOCKED] Requires: Level 100 or higher, title of 'Celestial Being'.**

 **The Endless Magic: [LOCKED] Requires: ? ? ?**

 **The Source Magic: [LOCKED] Requires: ? ? ?**

 **The Presence Magic: [LOCKED] Requires: ? ? ?**

Ignoring all of the locked options, particularly the last three which sent a shiver down my spine of which I could not tell was trepidation, excitement, or fear.

Or perhaps the phantom touches of an omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient being deciding I was worthy of amusing them.

Yeah… let it be said that I best not give the beings any reason to invest interest in me – if they already hadn't.

I was just… yeah… gonna ignore that.

Endless, Presence, Source… yup. Just ignoring that. There was nothing to see there. Nothing at all.

Gluing my eyes to the top of the list, I began to recount my available options as it was. Either to become an occultist serial killer, a sexual vampire, to forfeit my humanity and become a demon, or to sell my eternal soul to a god or higher being.

Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

I sighed.

The 'Artifact Magic' wasn't even a consideration for me, unless I somehow stumbled upon a rare treasure box containing legendary loot like I was Jack-fucking-Sparrow with an armada of leprechauns holding lucky coins, it was something that could not truly be used. The 'Patron Magic' didn't seem like such a bad idea, but, unfortunately, I was an individual who enjoyed freedom. Choosing that would mean forever listening to voices telling me what I could and couldn't do, what I _should_ or shouldn't do, or forcing me to do what I did or _didn't_ want to do. I'd become a glorified puppet for some higher being or figure, dancing around to the tunes without a choice, because, without them, I'd be powerless.

Yeah – fuck no.

The thought of having to 'rely' on others for strength was something I personally abhorred. It had been one of the reasons I had gotten into fights, after I brought up the obvious fact that Naru-Jesus relied far too much on the strengths of others, and without Kurama's help, he'd have died in the first five episodes. Had a problem you can't face? Call up the big guy – he's got your back. Thankfully, Jesuto got my respect when he actually _fought_ and _beat_ the fox in order to use said power.

Hence, if I wanted power, I wanted it to be achieved and attained on _my_ own terms – with my own sweat and blood, and not handed to me down like a reluctant father paying child support. The "Ritual Magic" would be magic and power I would have gained through my own means, through dulling my sense of decency and morality as I sacrificed other human beings to advance myself forward – a 'survival of the fittest' scenario where the weak where gobbled up by the strong.

The Carnal Magic also worked along that same line, whereas the Artifact Magic would make me useless and powerless the second the artifacts were taken out of my hands. It would not be 'true' strength.

So, it came down to the battle between the two.

Ritual Magic, or Carnal Magic?

Murder and Mutilation, or Sexual harassment and assault?

Reality-chan came knocking.

Hmm… Reality-chan. Someone needed to anthropomorphize that asap just so I could literally give her the middle finger and slam my cock down her arse.

The Carnal Magic was an enticing concept, but not truly. The subdivisions displayed under it, ability to control fire, ice, water and illusions – none of that was special. How many people could control fire in this world? It was pyromaniac heaven here. How many people could control ice? Captain Freeze, Killer Cold, and Mr. Frost – and those were just the popular ones.

Even the option for telepathy was neither novel nor was it seemingly worth it, considering the vast number of heroes and villains who had trained their minds to become immune to such tricks. I could just picture trying to read Batman's mind and getting the equivalent of cable advertising static. The only real benefit to the Carnlan Magic would be the healing magic, but I felt that I would find a way to get around that.

Having sex all the time sounded great – but I could do that without having carnal magic. Eventually.

I hoped.

Er – hem. Instead, the **Ritual Magic** drew my attention. Necromancy, Soul Magic, Blood Magic, Nature Magic, and honest-to-god _Alchemy_.

I didn't know if this was the same sort of Alchemy used in my favorite series featuring two blond brothers, and my first ever desire to kill the worst father in history, but I didn't need to know. All I knew, was that at one point, I would be turning rocks into diamonds, and that said diamonds would be converted into the quid I would need to get out of the hellhole that was Gotham City.

 **You have selected the division – Ritual Magic.**

 **Are you certain of this choice?**

 **(Yes)**

 **(No)**

I slammed my hand on the response.

 **Warning – You will not be able to change this choice anytime in the foreseeable future.**

 **Warning – Selecting this division may cause certain characters to react unfavorably with you.**

 **Warning – Selecting this division may permanently bar your access to certain missions and quests.**

 **Are you certain you wish to proceed?**

 **(Yes)**

 **(No)**

Yeah, yeah. I get it – people will be offended. Jesus. Just get over with it already.

 **You have selected the Magical Division – Ritual Magic!**

 **Your Magical Cost is ?**

 **New Skill Trees Unlocked!**

 **Alchemy Skill Tree**

 **Beginner Alchemic Rituals (Passive) Lv. 1!**

 **Beginner Alteration (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Beginner Conjuration (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Beginner Enchantment (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Nature Magic Skill Tree**

 **Beginner Nature Rituals (Passive) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Summon Grass (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Summon Pebbles (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Summon Leaves (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Summon Vines (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Beginner Animal Discourse (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Beginner Animal Manipulation (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Blood Magic Skill Tree**

 **Beginner Blood Rituals (Passive) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Blood Drain (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Soul Magic Skill Tree**

 **Beginner Soul Rituals (Passive) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Astral Projection (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Body Possession (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Voodoo (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Necromancy Skill Tree**

 **Beginner Necromantic Rituals (Passive) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Soul Drain (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Create Undead (Active) Lv. 1!**

 **Lesser Reanimate Corpse (Active) Lv. 1!**

Those were a lot of skills.

 _A lot._

It was not the realization of my ability to now turn reality into my moaning bitch that gave me pause or made me giddy, however, instead, it was the sudden charge of energy that completely swept me up. I could feel _power_ humming softly on the fringes of my skin, roaring and screeching and _begging_ to be unleashed towards the outskirts.

 **Due to embracing your magical heritage, your available Mana Points has significantly increased!**

 **You now have 1000 Mana Points!**

 **Note: Although certain spells require the conduit of magic from your mana in order to cast, this can however be bypassed, and you can cast spells endlessly without using Mana, via finding alternate means of power. Alternate means could include rituals, items and artefacts, or blood, souls and people.**

 **Note: Spells are often especially effective if there is a foci involved. Additionally, the Mana cost is greatly reduced and the effectiveness is increased tenfold if the foci is a personal belonging or artefact or even biological matter (such as hair or nail clippings) of the intended target(s).**

Huh. I suppose it made sense. I could not for the life of me remember a time when any magician in this world had failed to cast a spell because they lacked the Mana to do so – that would just be honestly embarrassing, like the magical equivalent of being unable to get it up. They could be lacking the _power_ (size) or the _means_ (tool), but never the Mana – which meant that they relied on external sources for their magic.

Phallic symbolism for magic aside, I already had plans to work around any 'limitations' imposed by magic, so that was not necessarily going to be an issue.

Still, with so many options now available to me, the most important question was simple.

 _Which one do I work on first?_

* * *

I was a cheater.

"She said what? Oh no she didn't! Oh – she _did?_ Oh she better _not have!_ "

Ignoring the urge to roll my eyes at the trite dialogue that would not be out of place in the casting requirements of an ethnic stereotype, I shuddered at the night wind, and continued to stalk my new target/test subject.

The reason why I claimed to be a cheater, was due to one simple realization –

Every single one of my magical skills/spells were Imagination Skills.

Meaning, technically, any single one of them could be maxed out instantly under the right circumstances.

I wasn't an idiot, or at least, I did not believe myself to be one. Hence, I found myself standing on the balcony of the apartment complex opposite mine, staring into a room. On the inside, a teenage girl lay, unaware of my presence, eagerly chatting away on her phone in a manner with her legs swinging in the air like it had been rehearsed for Disney-teen drama. Tamara was her name, a sixteen year old high school student of Gargoyle High, the non-posh, non-rich, non-snobby counter to the elite and fashionable Gotham Academy.

As it was, I held no judicious ill will for Judy. I just did not care about her existence in one way or another. And unfortunately, the fact that she seemed both dull-witted and dim-minded for my purposes was just an extra tick mark in my reasons as to why I had picked her as my target. Hey – social Darwinism declared that it was merely survival of the fittest for the weak to be consumed by the strong and sucky as it was, that was the unforgiving nature of Gotham.

I took a potted plant from her window. It was a foci. A weak foci, but a foci no less. With that in mind, I turned my attention to the girl inside, drawing up my Mana and focusing.

" **Lesser Body Possession.** "

To explain the sensation of your body losing all illusions of corporeality and your soul lunging forward at break neck speeds was almost impossible. It was almost as though someone had decided to slam you with the full force of a train a few seconds before reaching sexual orgasm. Painful in so many ways, but none more so than the deprived access to finishing.

I could the very instant I slammed my soul into her body –

And this was why I was a cheater.

The rules of Body Possession were simple – the stronger the will of the person being possessed, the harder the possession, and it was a dominant battle of minds and of willpower for the control of the body.

Except –

 **Gamer's Mind Activated.**

Yeah… you can probably see where I'm going with this. Gamer's Mind had its sole purpose being to purge out any negative influences that could damage my mind or psyche. Unfortunately for poor Tamara, her consciousness and mind was considered a damaging force.

With a pitiable screech of horror and confusion, I could feel the weak and feeble consciousness of the girl forcefully get shoved into the deepest, darkest recesses and pits of her own mind as I immediately took and assumed full control of her body.

 **Lesser Body Possession has gone up by 1!**

 **Lesser Body Possession has gone up by 1!**

 **Lesser Body Possession has gone up by 1!**

 **Lesser Body Possession has gone up by 1!**

On and on it went, until finally –

 **Lesser Body Possession has been Maxed Out!**

 **Lesser Body Possession has upgraded to Intermediate Body Possession!**

And _then_ –

 **Intermediate Body Possession has Maxed Out!**

 **Intermediate Body Possession has been upgraded to Greater Body Possession!**

 **Greater Body Possession has reached level 50!**

BOO FUCKING YEAH BITCH!

I pumped my fist into the air and resisted the urge to begin doing victory dances.

Lesser Body Possession was meant to only work failingly on some lesser animals or beasts, or at best, work on babies and infants. Except, I had skipped ahead of the evolutionary ladder, and used the skill on a fully sentient teenager, albeit with laughable levels of willpower and mental prowess.

I blinked – Oh?

The skills evolution came with some rather nifty upgrades. Motor controls of the body was now included in the possession package, and there was no feeling of awkwardness that came with the sudden height boost and increased reach. Additionally, recollection of the person's last twenty-four hours prior to possession also became available to me, which just had _so many_ interesting uses.

Still, the girl's body was a little bit stiff for my liking, and the absence of something between my legs was somewhat discomforting, but it was not a serious hindrance.

The two puffy balloons on my chest however, _were_.

I gave them a slight, experimental squeeze.

Was it wrong to be aroused by that?

Probably.

Did I care?

Not one bit.

Because they were boobies. And they were soft.

And… I was finally in a body that was mature enough to comprehend sexual arousal. Curiosity alongside with the blatant need to use this opportunity overcame me.

When else would I get to masturbate as a girl?

"Wait… is this gay?"

I paused.

"Fuck. Doesn't matter."

Panties to ankles. Fingers to crotch.

 _So that's what it feels like when women are aroused? Oh… yeah._

I am not insane.

No, really.

Believe me.


	5. Hubris

**Back at it with another chapter. So many favorites and follows. Much wow. Like, fuck, much wow. Welp - let's see how many of those will still be here once they realize I plan on making good on the genre tags of this story.**

 **Also! Special thanks, and recog goes to nightmaster000 and coldblue2015. Damn - like, are you guys in my mind or something? You actually correctly guessed and predicted some of the stuff I had planned for this story. Now I'm torn between going with it anyway or changing it altogether because it was accurately predicted. No, really, like what the hell where the odds of people actually getting it so quickly? (Probably high because there aren't many well-known magical villains/heroes, or uses of voodoo combat, but still).**

 **Meh. I'll run with it either way. Just gotta put le original spin on it.**

 **Oh, and fear not, this is Zack's last chapter as a one-year old, as next chapter shall include le time skip.**

* * *

 **Greater Body Possession** was so far the most overpowered tool in my entire arsenal.

Once I had finished doing my… 'business' with Tamara, I realized, that other than possessing the memories of her last twenty-four hours, I had also gotten her skills. Tamara was athletic, flexible and acrobatic. She was a cheerleader and a stereotypical 'alpha-bitch' and apparently possessed the Charisma to go with it. I supposed it made sense, because otherwise it would be really weird possessing an Olympic Distance Runner, only to discover that I panted and gasped in an attempt to run the four-minute-mile.

 _However_ , what made this power deadly, is what happens _after_ the possession.

I detached my soul from that of the girl's body, watching as she plopped lifelessly to the ground, and immediately, I was assaulted with a wall of text.

 **From gaining an insight from a more experienced perspective, your Dexterity has gone up by 32!**

 **From gaining an insight from a more experienced perspective, your Charisma has gone up by 20!**

 **From gaining an insight from a more experienced perspective, your Strength has gone up by 10!**

 **From gaining an insight from a more experienced perspective, your Vitality has gone up by 14!**

 **From gaining an insight from a more experienced perspective, your Intelligence has gone up by 7!**

 **You have gained the skill – Acrobatics!**

 **Acrobatics (Active and Passive) Lv. 24**

 **This skill grants you the ability to perform excellent gymnastic maneuvers, making you nimbler on your feet, and mitigating effects of recoil damage or Stagger status effects.**

 **You have gained the skill – Cheerleading!**

 **Cheerleading (Active) Lv. 72**

 **This skill allows you to shout and cheer and boost the morale of your teammates and acquaintances, subsequently boosting their attack and defense.**

 **You have gained the skill – Dancing!**

 **Dancing (Active) Lv. 39**

 **This skill allows you to dance. Higher levels include greater masteries of different dance styles, and an improved effect on seduction when dancing with women.**

 **Skill – Housekeeping has gone up by 20!**

 **Skill – Homestyle Cooking has gone up by 20!**

I gained the abilities of the people I possessed after possessing their bodies. I _retained_ the abilities even _after_ I had left their bodies – which meant –

"Hello. Who are you?"

I froze, tilting my head to the side and almost cursing my stupidity for having just standing there in the girl's room. The realization of getting her skills and abilities had distracted me enough to fail to notice when the girl had roused from the possession. Considering the fact that she was, as it was, sitting in her room with her panties on the floor and a young stranger in her room – I could only guess the immediate reaction –

"How. Did you. Get in here. Little. Guy."

Which was most certainly not… _that_.

I blinked, turning to stare at the girl, and ignored the cold shiver that ran down my spine as I made eye contact. Her eyes… they…

They were blank.

Empty and soulless like a sheet of white paper dipped in cream paint. She was _there_ , present, and clearly conscious and alive, but at the same time, it was like she _wasn't_. Like there was something seriously and completely wrong with her.

' **Gamer Vision.** '

 **Bitch Cheerleader**

 **Tamara McClain**

 **HP: 100/100**

 **MP: 0/1**

 **Level: 7**

 **Age: 16**

 **Race: Human**

 **Affiliations: Gargoyle High School**

 **Base of Operations: Gotham City**

 **Alignment: Neutral**

 **Occupation: N/A**

 **Identity: Unknown**

 **Citizenship: American**

 **Status Effects:**

 **(Partially Consumed Soul)**

 **(Muted Soul)**

That… could not be good.

 **Partially Consumed Soul: The soul of this individual has been partially drained and taken, as a result of a forced body possession, aspects of this individual's powers and abilities were transferred to a new host, and those powers and abilities were accompanied with a portion of the individual's soul.**

 **Increases Effectiveness of: Soul Rituals, Soul Drain, Soul Theft, Body Possession, Voodoo**

 **Muted Soul: The soul of this individual has been greatly suppressed and stripped of will and individuality. As a result, the individual's soul has been muted, all their characteristic behaviors and traits, emotions, feelings and passions have been heavily suppressed, leaving a blank slate on the soul on which nearly anything could be written.**

 **Increases Effectiveness of: Soul Conditioning, Soul Bondage, Soul Slavery**

I was leaping down the rabbit hole here. It was a slippery, extremely slippery slope, with the nagging sensation at the back of my mind telling me that going any further down this path would send me down a road of no return. Sure, it was one thing to possess a body for shits and giggles – read, masturbation – but it'd be a _whole_ different thing entirely to completely rewrite someone's personality and essentially enslave their unwilling soul to mine.

Soul Possession was… well… _dangerous_.

I supposed it should have been obvious considering the fact that I was dealing with Soul Magic, which was clearly considered as dark magic, but _still_. I had a feeling that this had only happened because of the influence of Gamer's Mind which had forced the possession and effectively disregarded the girl's own soul as a foreign entity in her body.

Which _probably_ meant that this would happen to every single person I ended up possessing – as Gamer's Mind would continue to detect their souls as foreign influences.

"Um. Who… are… you?"

I turned to the girl.

"I'm…" Should I? Shouldn't I? "Your master."

I waited.

"Oh." She said, simply. "Hello… master."

The devil was probably warming my seat up for me in hell right this instant.

Alright, let's look at the pros and the cons.

Pros – I could possess people, and after I possessed them, I could brainwash them into my forever willing minions, with their souls bound to mine.

Cons – If I possessed someone, and _didn't_ want to brainwash them afterwards, I would effectively be leaving them as hollow, damaged husks of their previous selves with ne'er a shred of individuality or will – who would either end up dying horribly or manipulated and used by the people around them.

I rubbed my nose.

Pros – I could possess people. Hijack their bodies and do whatever I wanted with it, and I gained stats and new skills from each person I possessed.

Cons – I would technically be a slave-master.

… Wait… how was that a con again? Other than the pesky ethical or moral aspects of it – which I had decided that I would not let get in my way _ever_ again –

I couldn't really see the cons.

"Well," I turned back to the girl. "Congratulations Tamara – you've officially become my first evil henchman."

"Oh." She said, plainly. "Yay."

I resisted the urge to shudder at the lifeless intonation.

Okay – how exactly did I do the whole – Soul Conditioning thing again? I could only handle this for so long.

 **Soul Magic Skill Tree Updated!**

 **Soul Conditioning (Active) Lv. 1**

 **This enables you to rewrite or train a blank or vacant soul in the manner that you wish or desire. You can set their fears, loves, hates, likes, dislikes, and choose their outlook on life as though you were creating a character to be tortured in the Sims. Feel free to go wild!**

Was it just me, or was my Gamer interface learning sarcasm?

 **Soul Bondage (Active) Lv. 1**

 **This allows you to basically chain a soul to yours and ensure control and domination of the bonded soul. Higher levels will enable you to use this ability to imprison ghosts, poltergeists or spirits inside weapons or objects, or to bind them to your will and use them as you so command. Should your soul perish or should you die, the bonded soul will also die, and likewise, should your soul get stronger and more powerful, so will the bonded soul.**

 **Soul Slavery (Active and Passive) Lv. 1**

 **Exactly what it says on the tin. This allows you to completely enslave the targeted soul to your whim. Unlike Soul Bondage however, Soul Slavery essentially compels the captured soul to obey and listen to your every command as though they were words spoken by the Saint Paul himself. Soul Slavery also passively ensures that the enslaved soul will begin to see you as their master, to the point of blind devotion where they would sever their limbs without question should you demand it of them.**

 **Note: Using Soul Slavery on a ghost, spirit, or poltergeist is considered a great ignominy by numerous beings in the supernatural world, as you strip them from their rights to go to Heaven or Hell, and essentially make them your eternal puppets.**

 **Important Note: Using Soul Slavery on a Demon or Angel is considered a hundred times worse, the height of humiliation and degradation, and will almost certainly guarantee you either extreme loathing or extreme fear.**

So, **Soul Bondage** _commanded_ the souls to do as I wished, but **Soul Slavery** _compelled._ Then, there was **Soul Conditioning** which was just a fanciful term for complete brainwashing, and there was the fact that I could enslave angels and demons or ghosts and spirits.

I turned my attention back to Tamara.

"Okay…" I swallowed. "Conditioning time."

It was simple enough, an idea which sprung to mind. Make her as close to 'me' as I could possibly get. If I could get one companion, just one, from whom I wouldn't have to hide the whole Gamer business, and who would understand where I was coming from, possessing similar though-processing – it would make my life a hell of a lot easier.

And of course, I was planning on cheating again – _naturally_.

I didn't have the time to wait to let the skill level up, so – it was time to use my imagination.

 **Soul Conditioning** activated, and I could _feel_ the options of the girl's soul, the ability to turn and twist it as though it were a dial on a setting. However, rather than turn and twist, I instead activated **Greater Body Possession**.

Partially.

The result, was my soul _slamming_ into the girl for a brief second before returning back to my body. The goal of doing this was to successfully imprint my own soul into her body, and gain a secondary opinion and perspective of life, in the form of an older, sexier, different gendered Shadow Clone, with 16+ years of living and experience.

And then… I waited.

 **Soul Conditioning has gone up by 1!**

 **Soul Conditioning has gone up by 1!**

 **Soul Conditioning has gone up by 1!**

 **Soul Conditioning has gone up by 1!**

Sometimes, I fell in love with my own genius. I watched as the skill went up, and up and –

 **Soul Conditioning has been maxed out!**

I grinned, wildly.

"It's alive! Aaaaliiiivveeee!"

Two of the strangest pair of _icy blue_ eyes opened, and 'Tamara' gave me a coy smile.

"Aw, look at you – you're so cute with that little mask you've got put on your face."

I blinked. "Mask?"

She grinned. A terrifying grin. A cold grin. A grin that told me that something was very, _very_ wrong.

"You think that going through life as though nothing truly matters, as though the entirety of it is a dumb joke with you being the butt of it is the way to go, don't you hon?"

She rose, her hand cupping my small chin.

"But I see it – oh, I see it clearly. Your mind can't break, it can't snap – you can't go insane from the realization that this is truly your reality – that this is your world. But – that isn't comforting is it? No – no – no! It's not comforting in the slightest! Instead… it's _horrifying!_ "

She laughed, spinning around on the balls of her feet, and I unconsciously took a step back.

"You're trapped in an insane death world of gods, monsters and cosmic beings – you're trapped like a helpless damsel in a B-rated horror flick – and you've been stripped of your basic, simple right, to as much as _scream_."

She was clapping, clapping enthusiastically. Her eyes were wide, her smile was stretched, and her form was coiled and timid, brave and frightful all at the same time. It was a paradox and oxymoron of traits and features, of cowardice and courage, of madness and sanity – all of it, represented in the girl's expressions and movements.

This – this was me? This was what an imprint of my soul behaved like?

No. I wasn't crazy – I mean –

Then, all at once, it hit me.

 _She doesn't have Gamer's Mind._

"Tamara dear, is anything wrong?" A voice called out from another room.

She rolled her eyes, before sighing, and turning back to me.

"Ugh. My deadbeat parents. I can just hop up there and kill them if you want." She said with a smile, "It wouldn't take long – well, unless I _really_ wanted to drag it out – oh! Oh! How bout I rape my mom while I'm at it? You can watch – she's a MILF, and would be right down your alley –"

It was a strange feeling, disgust. "No! No – don't do that."

She tilted her head. "No? Are you sure? Oh – that's right, you wouldn't get any pleasure out of it – your body being undeveloped and all. Ah – but I can still kill them right? Should I make it messy? They'd probably be useful for a blood ritual don't you think?"

Something had clearly gone wrong. There was no way this was anything close to what I was like. Even _without_ **Gamer's Mind**. I wasn't insane.

I wasn't.

 _I wasn't_.

"Oh? What's wrong? Come on master! Let's kill them! They don't matter after all! I mean, does _anything_ here even matter?" she said in a sing-song voice, "Let's become gods! Enslave the universe! Turn Darkseid into your butler or go back in time and screw the Virgin Mary! I mean, with how fucked up this world is, it wouldn't be a surprise to discover that Jesus was some time traveler or extradimensional alien! Oh! Maybe both!"

I teetered back.

"Speaking of mothers and fucking, you're not still planning on doing that silly little mission _helping_ that selfish bitch?"

I froze.

"What did you call her?"

She grinned, hopping on her bed and crossing her legs. "You know it, deep down, you've always known it. Eva – she doesn't care about you. Not really. She leaves you day after day to go slurp down dirty dicks and get wet from giving people boners. She drinks herself to stupor and comes back wasted, and you're there, cooking her meals, washing her semen stained undies, and giving her ego the reassurance that she's a good person, like a good, well-trained, _pet_."

"Shut up." I whispered, my voice almost inaudible to my own ears.

She laughed once more. "Come on! You're smarter than this! When last did she ask _you_ how you were doing? When last did she even bother asking you to tell her about _your_ day? Hell, does she even _care_ about what you do in all the excess free time you have while she's out there experiencing bukkake no jutsu?"

"Shut. Up."

"It's not that she doesn't believe your bullshit truth excuses, and more that she doesn't _want to_. As long as you're there, re-assuring her that she isn't complete garbage, and as long as you're smart enough to make your way to the kitchen and whip up your own meals, she wouldn't even care if you told her that you were raping kittens for fun. Oh, no – she wouldn't, because she doesn't want her well-behaved pet to be anything but that."

" _Shut. Up._ "

"You think getting a million dollars would suddenly make her become a better person? Really? You think she'd actually stop stripping and fucking and try to 'make something' out of her life? The same woman who left you starving in a crib for hours while some guy fucked her on the couch? The same person who often forgot to change your diapers because she was wasted as fuck? Hell – if not for those nifty powers, you'd be _dead_. Imagine that – picture it and let it sink in – _you would be dead if you weren't a Gamer_. This woman, who doesn't give a shit about you, who all but orchestrated your attempted murder, is the one person in the world you're living for? The one person you would do _anything_ to please?"

A heavy scoff.

"And I'm the brainwashed one."

"SHUT THE FUCKING HELL UP!"

I didn't know when I lunged from my position. I didn't know when my feet had flown into the air, as I tackled the form of the girl to the ground, my fists slamming into her face in anger. Again, and again and again –

She laughed.

All she did, through it all, was laugh.

I didn't know how long it had been. All I could remember was the sound of taunting laughter coming from a girl's voice. The laughter was colder than anything I had felt before. Like serpents of ice had coiled into a vice grip around my chest. It was in contrast to the burning gorilla hands which I felt squeezing against my throat and preventing me from swallowing.

It was only when I got a notification for **500EXP** that I came to my senses, and the stench and sight and sensations assaulted me.

 **From continuous repetitive action, a skill has been created!**

 **Manslaughter (Active) Lv. 1**

 **The ability to completely decimate your opponent in brutal, barbaric ways. The bloodier and gorier the kill, the more experience points you gain. Evolution of this skill will unlock the 'Style Points' System, which awards special bonuses for combos and your choice of decimation. This skill can also be used as a finisher – and it inflicts the [Stunned] [Horrified] and [Cowed] status effect on any nearby enemies or allies.**

A small snicker wanted to escape my lips. A small one. But it died. Stillborn.

 **Would you like to dematerialize the vanquished foe, or harvest the corpse?**

 **(Dematerialize)**

 **(Harvest)**

"Tamara, what the hell is going on! What's with all the nois –"

The woman who entered the room was probably in her mid-thirties. Probably. I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I didn't want her face to be burned into my memory. I didn't even try to look up to see her name or level. I didn't need – didn't _want_ to know. To be reminded.

"For all it's worth, I'm sorry."

Her daughter's blood was literally on my hands, and it was more than enough to use as a foci.

 **Lesser Summon Vines** did the work for me – thick, dark green vines appearing from the ceiling with a clear target in mind. They wrapped around the woman's mouth before she could let out a horrified scream, and I willed the image I wanted in my mind.

 _CRACK!_

A sharp tug of two alternating vines in two opposite directions. The vines themselves weren't even that strong – they could be overcome and torn like silk cloth; but the woman was neither in the state of mind to do such, nor would she have had any way to react to the vines in time.

 **Manslaughter has gone up by three!**

 **Lesser Summon Vines has gone up by four!**

 **You have gained 250 Experience Points!**

 **Title Unlocked: Murderer**

The body dropped lifelessly to the ground, like someone had let go of a large bag of potatoes.

A cursory glance at my minimap indicated another red dot – the last member of the three member family. He was asleep – still peaceful in his bed, and for a second, I contemplated it. Contemplated sparing him. Contemplated that he was not a witness, and that there was no real reason to take his life as well.

Then, I realized that it was the small mercies like this, which drove men to either become great heroes or great villains.

And so, **Lesser Summon Vines** once more sprung to work. I envisioned them, and with blood as the foci, they rose out of the man's pillow and wrapped themselves around his neck, before tightening. Four more vines appeared, pinning his legs and arms, stopping him from tearing off vine on his neck, stopping the only means of preventing his suffocation; his strangulation.

It was a slow process, even as he struggled, and fought, clawing at his sheets like a wild beast, convulsing and thrashing on his bed with all the desperation of a living being fighting for life. In the end, the foci was far too strong, and his strength was not enough.

 _He_ was not enough.

 **Manslaughter has gone up by six!**

 **Lesser Summon Vines has gone up by five!**

 **You have gained 1000 EXP!**

 **Congratulations! You have leveled up!**

 **You are now Level 3!**

 **You have gained additional 1000 Mana Points!**

 **You have gained additional 250 Health Points!**

 **Achievement Unlocked: No Witnesses**

 **Title Unlocked: Serial Killer**

I slumped back, lying on the floor. I felt old, older than I had any right to feel.

" **Dematerialize**."

I watched as sparkles of light rose and faded from my vision, and as I stood in a house now devoid of any bodies. Other than the bloodstains on the floor and the protrusions in the roof caused by magical vines, there was nothing proving that people had been attacked and had died.

I rose.

It was easy to find the kitchen, as the convenient minimap made me nigh-clairvoyant. I grabbed a bunch of forks from a drawer, and I tossed them into the microwave. I turned towards the oven, turning the dial until it was on full blast, and then I left it open, watching as my vision slightly altered in response to the invisible fumes.

I cleared out the master bedroom of all jewels and valuables.

Then I took my time to check the family pictures, and ensure that there were no other members of the family I had missed. I made my way out from whence I came, climbing down from Tamara's window.

I made sure I was back on the ground and on the street, before I conjured up the image of the microwave in my mind.

" **Lesser Summon Vine**."

A tiny, thread-like vine slowly turned the knob of the Microwave's timer.

I swung open the rickety door to my own apartment complex just as the street was engulfed in orange.

 **Achievement Unlocked: Playing With Fire**

* * *

I never liked the wailing of sirens. The sound was annoying, almost irritating, and they prevented me from being capable of thinking soundly – thinking logically.

I went out to experiment a Body Possession – to have some fun and masturbate with a girl's body. Then, I returned a higher level, and with a higher body count. How had I gone from having mildly harmless fun, to completely killing an entire family and blowing up their house? I couldn't even begin to explain it.

Magic – it was powerful. Undoubtedly so. However, I realized that it was also a force that was above my comprehension. Body Possession had led to me wiping a girl's personality. My attempt to 'fix' her by imprinting my own soul on her failed as I realized that Gamer's Mind was literally the only thread maintaining my sanity, and I was essentially forced into killing my inner demon given physical form. Then everything else was just damage control.

 _Why the hell did I blow up their house?_

If I had merely killed them and left the house intact, no one would ever have been the wiser. It would have entered a missing cases file, and would have been destined to be forgotten and abandoned. Instead, I had lost my cool. I wanted all memory of the deed wiped clean from my head. From my mind.

There was a difference between killing a cultist out to murder you, and killing an innocent family of three that meant you no ill will.

I wanted all traces of that place, of that _thing_ I had created by destroying the soul of a girl - gone with the ash.

Except, I'd opened a can of worms that could not be closed anymore. I'd unleashed the domino effect.

With the firefighters, eventually came the police. Once the flames were doused and no burnt cadavers were found, it was only a matter of time until –

I sighed. A small badge icon was right there, approaching my own apartment.

Questioning.

They would have most likely finished questioning everyone in the apartment where the crime took place, before they would decide to move over to the Blue Light Complex in hopes of trying to find out if anyone had seen anything.

The problem, however, was that I was an infant. I _couldn't_ answer the door on my own.

 _Knock!_

 _Knock!_

 _Knock!_

"This is the GCPD – we'd like to ask you some questions, if you would please comply."

I played a sequence of events over and over again in my head. Yet, I realized that no matter what choice I made, answering, or not answering, the results would ultimately end up the same – one way or another.

So, with my best 'innocent' and 'childlike' face, I made my way to the door.

"Hiyah Mistwa Powiceman!"

 **From putting on a grand performance, the Skill – Acting has been created!**

* * *

I'd never been to the Gotham City Police Department before. Actually, I haven'r been much of anywhere before. It wasn't like Eva had a car that would help save my legs the hassle of moving far distances. Or, it wasn't like there was any place she would or could take me. I was too young to board a bus or most public transportation systems without raising numerous brows, and I didn't know how to teleport yet.

The ride in the car had been comfortable, although annoying. Having to actually act my age was a feat I wasn't sure how to properly perform, but by how steadily my acting skill kept leveling with each and every pretense at struggling with complex words, and each mispronunciation, I knew that I was doing well. It also helped that I glued my face to the window and stared out at all of Gotham City's exotic looking nightlife with awe that didn't have to be faked.

I couldn't be sure, but I think I came from a third-world country in my past life. I'd never seen a city so beautiful before, or at least, I couldn't remember seeing one. So, Gotham City was a sight to behold, even if the sight had been from the backseat of a police vehicle.

The police department itself was large, and it was a mix and mash of what I could remember from the Arkham Games, from the Gotham TV Series, from numerous animated films, and from the Dark Knight Trilogy. With hanging gargoyles and elevated platforms, with numerous levels and elevators, and officers patrolling every square-inch – it was impressive.

Those Wayne Industries donations sure helped.

"Aw – who's this cute little guy?"

My attention turned to a female officer who had noticed me.

"Found him all alone in his apartment – opposite the apartment complex that blew up."

A gasp. "All alone?"

A nod. "Poor kid must have been frightened to death."

Curious. "What about his parents?"

Resigned. "His mother's name is Eva Cabrera – she's a local whor – err… call-girl. She's probably 'out' for the night and left this fella here on his own."

Annoyance. "Well that's just –"

"That's not even the weird part. This kid – it's like he doesn't exist. No hospital records, medical records, hell, he doesn't even have a _birth certificate_. Talked to some of the neighbors – they said –"

I felt my heart rate rise as the police officer, Thompson, stopped. He turned to me, before he gestured the female officer away, to what they assumed was out of my hearing range.

 **The skill – Eavesdropping has been created!**

"It's sick. The neighbors say that his mother, this Eva chick, locks him up in the apartment whenever she goes out to work, and leaves the kid to starve. She abandons him to fend for himself, and often brings back different 'customers' and forces the kid to watch her get it on with them."

My blood ran slightly cold. That wasn't – I had watched to discourage her from – it wasn't –

"That's disgusting!"

"It gets worse," he said. "Supposedly, she often takes the kid to 'work' with her. To strip clubs and other places, where he's put on display and played with by her co-workers with peculiar 'tastes'."

The female police officer O'Reilly, shot me what she thought was a subtly look of sympathy and pity, but I didn't focus on it. I couldn't focus on it. My mind was clear. Too clear. Too sharp. All at once, I realized my folly. I realized that I had been living in an apartment where the walls had been far too thin. I realized, that from the perspective of people who weren't aware of my own self-sufficiency and independence, of my intellect, they would assume the worst of my mother's actions. Of _my_ actions.

"So – this sicko, where is she?"

"Two of the guys headed out to book her about an hour ago. The way I see it, she's going to go away for a long fucking time. I've already contacted Social Services, I can only hope the guys there can get the poor kid a proper family – with all he's suffered, he deserves it."

This – this wasn't right. No – this _couldn't_ be right

 _This couldn't be happening_.

It was only until I spotted the familiar mop of blonde hair being dragged forward by two police men that reality seemed to sink in.

"Mom!"

I sprinted for her, without hesitation. I barreled into her stomach, my small, childlike form tackling her with all the force it could muster. All we needed was an explanation – a valid explanation – one that wouldn't make her look crazy as she tried to explain to everyone that a one-year old was capable of bantering with her, and was insanely smart. An explanation that wouldn't end up with me effectively displaying to a court that I had the intelligence of someone easily three times my age, and as a result, put myself on the crosshairs of everyone from Amanda Waller to Lex Luthor.

I needed a solution. A solution that would make sense. A solution that would work. A solution that would –

"Huuuh? Z-Zacky – is that you? Heh – you're – are not planning on sucking my nipples again are you? It kinda felt good last time if I'm being honest – come 'ere and give my babies some love~"

I froze.

 **Gamer's Vision** flared.

 **Status Effect: Highly Inebriated**

She was drunk.

 _Now of all times! NOW of all FUCKING TIMES!_

The scene was observed by numerous police officers, and I could already sense the judging and condemning looks they shot her way, as it stood in contrast to the looks of pity sent in my direction.

 _Irresponsible –_

 _Incapable –_

 _Degenerate –_

 _Whore –_

 _Slut –_

 _Dirty –_

 _Filthy –_

Their eyes and postures conveyed the words that their lips would not speak, and I grit my teeth as I tried to make sense of how this could be happening.

I had a quest – a mission.

I had to complete the mission – nothing would stop a mission from being completed right? I had four years… right?

"Codex: Show Quest – **Pulling Your Own Weight** **.** "

 **Pulling Your Own Weight!**

 **Your mother is a young, talented, and extremely beautiful woman, who is wasting away her life as a cheap stripper and hooker in Gotham City's slums, and is barely making enough for herself, let alone for the both of you. Help her out by attaining enough money to steer her off this path of life, and truly become a better person.**

 **Objective: -**

 **Attain $100,000 Dollars via any means necessary**

 **Bonus Objectives: -**

 **Attain $250,000 Dollars**

 **Attain $500,000 Dollars**

 **Attain $1,000,000 Dollars**

 **Time Limit:**

 **Before your mother turns Twenty-Five**

 **(Four Years)**

 **Rewards:**

 **10,000 EXP**

 **Additional 25,000 EXP Per Bonus Objective**

 **Increased Standards of Living**

 **Greatly Increased Reputation with your Mother**

 **Greatly Increased Affection with your Mother**

 **[BARRED QUEST]**

 **Due to consequences resulting from the choice of a magical division [Magical Division – Ritual Magic], this Quest has been Barred from completion, and as a result, automatically failed.**

My world shattered.

* * *

 _Hence, it is for this reason, that there is a burden or a great cost required of those who dabble into magic. The requirement may be physical, mental or psychological – as magic does not give freely, and in exchange for turning the fundamental laws of the universe into a lump of clay, the user must pay this price._


	6. Catharsis

**Ah! The sweet and beautiful smell of offending random people on the internet! I love it! Reminds me of an armpit that hasn't been exposed to air in six weeks.**

 **So, other than the clearly sophisticated reviewer who goes by the eloquent 'lolkid' who told me he's deleting this from his favs with the misconception that I care about his opinion any more than I do the tissues I flush down the toilet, the response for last chapter was actually not as bad as I'd expected. I _am_ surprised at the admission of many of you though, who didn't see it coming. Here I thought I was being cliche in using the obvious 'power comes at the price you are always unwilling to afford' trope.**

 **Shoutout to FuZzvKiNgZz who actually unwittingly predicted some of my plot elements correctly.**

 **The major question asked last chapter was 'Why did Zack open the door?' which many assumed was a plot hole. It isn't. The explanation is in this chapter.**

 **And FINALLY! I mean FINALLY -**

 **YOU ALL READ THE WARNING LABELS!**

 **Amusing and flattering as it is to tell me about your concerns with how dark it's going to get - I'm not an idiot. Why the fuck would I write a story where all the main character does is suffer? This isn't in the Re:Zero fan fic section people! Jesus!**

 **No, really, what would be the point of that? I'd get bored of writing it after the first chapter or two.**

 **There _will_ be ups and downs. Actions _will_ have consequences. People _will_ die. And _nobody_ has plot armor. **

**G.R.R. Martin is my spirit animal for a reason.**

 **I'd love to answer some more questions and make some more comments, but seeing as how I've put Son of Gato on the temporary backburner to write this instead, and this AN has added more words to the word count than I would have liked, I'm just going to leave and let the story move on.**

 **P.S. The major time-skip will be next chapter, not this one.**

* * *

"It's days like this which make me hate this city."

Lieutenant James Gordon said, with a heavy sigh. His hand dipped into his pocket, even as he resisted the urge to scrunch up his nose at the smell, fearing to disrespect the dead. Slowly, he treaded outside, allowing the forensics to do their work, his eyes easily glazing over the dead bodies. Once outside, he brought out his cigarette. His wife had tried to get him to stop. Of course, it was days like this, days such as these, which made him go back to the nicotine.

This entire fiasco had started with what everyone assumed would have been an open and shut case. A sexually abusive and neglectful young mother, who molested, maltreated and did all other sickening acts with her son. Sure, it would have been an uphill battle to gain the required evidence necessary to convict her, but there was a guarantee that it could be done.

Only for her to blow all expectations out of the water.

Jim could still picture the exact moment in his mind, as the woman, dressed in a suit instead of the provocative attire of someone of her profession, had stood in the courtroom, possessing neither the air nor characteristics one would expect of a guilty or remorseful pedophile. She had all but strutted into the courtroom, _smiling_ , nonchalantly at the entire proceedings, against the quiet chastisement of her court-appointed lawyer. Then, when it had come to the time, when the judge had listed out her charges and asked how she pleaded, and she opened her mouth, smacking her lips together as she said, unabashedly:

"Guilty."

No one had expected the declaration. Everyone had been waiting for a long and arduous trial, where more of this woman's misdeeds would be brought to light and where she would get the proper justice dispensed. However, the utterance of that one word changed all of that.

Some were happy. Others were disgruntled. The majority however – were curious.

Why wouldn't the woman want to defend herself? Didn't she care about her child at all? Did she know that she could face a life-sentence? As such, investigations began. And then… a secret unearthed itself to life.

Eva Cabrera was a missing person.

The Cabrera family was a small-name mafia group who had supposedly had ideas to create a system of organized crime that actually _benefited_ the society. However, no one would stand for such a ridiculous notion, and they had stepped on the toes of the wrong person: Carmine Falcone. There had been no evidence tying Carmine to the deed, even though, at this point, everyone knew that the Falcone family was responsible for the complete massacre of the entire Cabrera family. The matriarch had been raped before being killed – and, if the evidence had shown anything, it was likely that the Cabrera family's head, Romero Cabrera, had been forced to watch the scene before he was equally killed.

The only person who had been suspiciously absent from the list of corpses, was a young, thirteen year old Eva Cabrera. She had most likely witnessed the rape of her mother and the murder of her father and brother, but either through luck or fortune, she had been overlooked in the massacre – the sole witness in a case which could have permanently thrown Carmine Falcone behind bars.

She was, in essence, a primary witness against Carmine Falcone.

Jim Gordon blew a puff of smoke into the night air. A shadow loomed overhead, and he let out a sigh upon recognizing it on sight.

"Gordon." The voice that came out was gruff, rough, and sounded as though it was being channeled through an amplifier or sound disruptor of one sort or another.

Jim merely let out another sigh. "Two dead bodies. Maryam Finch, child services, and her attacker. We're focusing all our resources on trying to figure out who he is – because, at this point, it's obvious who _sent_ him."

The woman, Eva, she had the right goal. She wanted to avoid a trial, because a trial would mean exposing her past, exposing the fact that she was a witness, and exposing her connection to Falcone. The most infamous boss of Gotham City was known to have nigh-mystical powers in making any and all witnesses permanently 'disappear'.

So, instead, it would make sense for her to take her charges, and be sent to prison instead.

Except, she had kept her last name – either out of pride or out of some sense of respect to her now deceased loved ones, Jim didn't know. Her last name had been on the news, and it didn't take a super genius to make the connection.

She didn't last four days in Blackgate before being found in a pool of blood in her cell –stabbed to death.

Carmine Falcone didn't take any chances.

"And the boy?"

Jim shook his head, taking a longer, deeper puff of smoke.

"Missing." He said, his lips producing the word like it was toxic. "I have men searching within a ten-block radius. He's a one year old kid – a one year old kid who's been through so much, without having a goddamned clue as to why – and now, he has a death warrant on his head."

There was silence, even as he dropped the cigarette onto the floor and stomped on it.

"Sorry – it's just – I have a daughter, you know. Barbara – she's five. I can't imagine anything happening to her, and yet, this kid, he's barely been in this world for year, and he's –"

"We'll find him." The voice was firm, reassuring. There was a resoluteness and steel to it – one which Jim wondered if he imagined.

He nodded, and conveniently avoided mentioning how the would-be hitman who had attacked the young boy the foster-care agent in charge of him had died. It was insane, to even contemplate the idea, that a one-year old child could smash the head of an adult male into paste.

Still, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. A foreboding sensation –

This kid – if he survived, just what exactly would someone like him become?

* * *

 **One Week After Eva's Death**

" **Beginner Animal Manipulation.** "

I gestured my fingers forward, curving and turning my index and middle fingers, and I watched, as the **Small House Rat Lv. 1** fell under my spell. It tried in vain to resist my control, and I snarled, forcing more Mana to rush into the spell, watching as my mana pool dipped by a hundred points, and as the creature went completely still.

I gestured it to rise, which it did, and then to lay low, which it did. In the decrepit apartment complex which I found myself, the rat became my source of amusement. Using the **Mini-map** to evade both the Gotham Police Force and the Special Forces Unit, along with the Dark Knight himself had proudly earned me a **Stealth** skill and an **Avoid Detection** skill. After a week of this, I had finally found myself in a dilapidated building in Chinatown that was scheduled for demolition.

It would have been so much easier, I knew, to have made it through life if I merely possessed people and lived in their skins. Except, the thought of the **Greater Body Possession** skill gave me cold shivers. Shivers that came from the realization that I would be permanently damaging and suppressing the souls of the people I possessed. Shivers that came from the memory of a laughing, pseudo-insane teenage girl whose eyes had been the most frigid mirror I had ever looked through.

I wasn't ready to face that yet – again – not yet – not now that…

Eva was dead.

I chuckled.

In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. It was almost painfully obvious. I had a foil titled **Tragic Origin Story** of course, so, it made sense. It made sense, in that almost annoyingly cliché way, that a person who desired great magic or power would often find themselves losing the one thing they cherished the most in order to attain it. Or, inversely, as a result of losing what one cherished, they attained greatness.

Had Bruce Wayne not lost his parents – there would be no Batman.

Had Barry Allen not lost his parents – there would be no Flash.

Tony Stark, Peter Parker, and on and on it went – it was obvious that their lack of parentage in one form or another had something to do with who they eventually became. Whether I would have become a hero or villain didn't matter in the end – heroes were almost always orphans, and villains didn't have their parents in the equation.

I had cared for my mother. Strange as it was, I had grown accustomed to her, I had felt attached to her, like she was the only thing that mattered in this world. Like she was the only thing that was even slightly _real_ in a world of panels and pages.

Looking back, I wondered what would have gone differently if I hadn't answered the door. I was not American in my past life, and I did not understand nor was I familiar with their police customs or procedures. Yet, there was a voice at the back of my mind, telling me, that from whatever country I had originally hailed from, it was generally a bad idea to ignore a police officer at your doorstep. They had the rights to enter your house without a warrant on accounts of "justifiable cause", which could range from them hearing you leave your water running, and thinking that someone was drowning, to merely conjuring that they had heard a 'suspicious noise'.

Would I have been able to hide from him had he barged in anyway? Probably. Probably not. I was still reeling from the words of my evil female clone and from the sensation I had gotten from twisting and molding a soul to my whims.

Alas, it didn't matter.

What mattered? Truly? Really?

" **Soul Drain.** "

The rat thrashed and twisted, letting out bloodcurdling screams, which, for a few brief seconds, drowned out my thoughts. It drowned out the memories of Eva's laughter, the memory of her smile, the memory of her scent, her touch, her feel –

The squealing rat distracted me. There was tranquility – slow, developing tranquility in the sound of its suffering – in the sound of a being other than me suffering – in the sound of a being suffering _for_ me –

And then, it was done. The squeals had ended.

 **You have defeated – Small House Rat!**

 **You have gained 10 EXP!**

With silence, came contemplation, and with contemplation, my thoughts flew back to blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes.

I couldn't mourn. Couldn't grieve. Couldn't wallow in dismay or agony because the **Gamer's Mind** blocked and suppressed those emotions and sentiments. A protective measure, which kept me from wallowing about my unfortunate circumstances of being sent into this world, was now a hindrance that would prevent me from ever truly attaining closure.

I needed an outlet.

It wasn't hard to input in the term **Small House Rat** into my minimap's search engine feature – and watching as numerous red dots came to the forefront of my vision.

I smiled.

" **Lesser Summon Vines.** "

I rounded them up. Ten of them, magical vines grasping them and bringing them before me, pinned down, desperately struggling and trying to escape.

" **Sou –** "

I stopped. No – not the same method.

I turned my gaze upon the first dead rat, the first one that I had killed.

" **Lesser Create Undead.** "

I watched, with both fascination and curious disgust, as the creature I had killed rose, it's neck in a twisted position, it's eyes glowing a haunting deadly red, the color of blood.

 **Lesser Undead Minion – Rat Lv. 1**

I gave it a simple order.

 _Kill. Slowly._

The rodent was slow, but it was strong. It clamped down on one of the struggling ten enraptured with vines, and chomped off its leg.

The squeals returned.

I settled back, with a satisfied sigh. The ambience of screaming rats, the background music, the requiem, the symphony which drowned out unnecessary thoughts. The concerto that expressed my inner desires in ways that I could not.

 **Lesser Undead Minion – Rat has leveled up!**

It was fascinating, in a Tokyo Ghoul-ish way, to note how the undead rat leveled up from cannibalizing living members of its own species. Intriguing, satisfying – sidetracking.

Yes… sidetracking.

I suppose, the squeals where only an added benefit.

 **Achievement Unlocked: Dawn of the Dead**

 **Title Unlocked: Sadist**

* * *

 **Two Weeks After Eva's Death**

I was right about not needing food to survive. **Gamer's Body** restored my energy and removed all negative [ **Hunger]** debuffs when I went to sleep and woke up the following morning. In the past seven days however, I had completely cleared the entire building of its rat population. There was only one rat left in the building now, and it was the strongest, deadliest, of them all – and it was mine.

 **Greater Undead Minion – Alpha Rat**

 **Lv. 34**

It was the size of a human head now, and pack filled with muscle on its form despite being dead, and despite not necessarily being capable of gaining muscle mass as a dead being. The process of maintaining the Alpha Rat for seven days straight had easily upped the **Lesser Create Undead** skill into the **Intermediate Create Undead** one. Tweaking a bit, I also discovered that **Beginner Animal Manipulation** worked on all animals, even if they were dead. It made for some easy cheating and power-leveling of the skill by using it to command my pet into doing a bunch of feats and tricks.

 _Moonwalk_.

The sight of a moonwalking zombie rodent was surprisingly more therapeutic than I could have ever imagined.

 _Thriller Dance_.

 _The Worm_.

 _Dab._

A dabbing zombie rat. Stored in my Codex for future use, when I would find a way to convert it into actual video and upload it on the internet for needless fame, or to tick off people who thought dabbing was retarded. The other benefit of course, had been the complete mastering and maxing of the **Master Animal Manipulation** skill. I suppose if you could command a rat to moonwalk, you could do pretty much anything else with animals.

I rose up from my dusty spot in the building, glancing at my body and almost laughing at the absurdity of it. No sweat – no overwhelming stench from the lack of bathing for almost two weeks – no sign of any real change except the growth of my fingernails.

I wondered if Eva would tell me to cut them –

I stopped.

I'd been occupied for the past one week. Occupied enough to have momentarily forgotten about that name. Part of me wondered, if I should traverse the path of the angry and evil avenger, rushing down to find and kill Falcone for ordering my mother's hit in prison.

Except, it wouldn't really achieve anything, now would it?

Eva was dead. Gone. I was not even going to contemplate the idea of _bringing her back_ with black magic, because I knew, that one way or another, Eva was supposed to be my cost. My major, one-time trade-off for the powers I now possess. Attempting to give the middle finger to magic by bringing her back would be disastrous at best, or, at worst, it would lead to gaining an even worse penalty. Perhaps I brought her back without a soul. Or, I brought back a twisted and warped soul, using such means as the Lazarus Pit.

No. She was dead – and she was staying dead.

What good would killing Falcone do for me now? I couldn't even _mourn_ the woman, so was I supposed to believe that killing her murderer would grant me resolution? Would grant me closure?

No. She was dead, and what I needed to do now was get over it.

By finding the closest cat, pinning it down, and having my zombie rodent slowly devour it alive.

I wondered what a cat's screams sounded like.

I'd find out soon enough.

* * *

 **Four Weeks After Eva's Death**

My zombie rat had gained a title.

 **Greater Undead Minion – Alpha Rat Ultra**

 **Title: Breaker of Chains**

 **Level 66**

Apparently, when you gave the middle finger to the food chain and cycle, by feasting on the flesh of numerous cats and kittens – you gained the title 'Breaker of Chains'. It was a title which doubled all stats when he was facing or fighting anything higher on the Food Chain than himself. This stat increase stacked and was peculiar to opponents, meaning that if he was fighting a hawk and a snake at the same time, his stats would be quadrupled.

Considering he was a rat – that pretty much meant that he was OP when fighting almost anything.

When added with the facts that he now gained skills starting from level fifty – I had a zombie rat that could basically use _Poison Fang_ , and _Hyper Fang_ , and could tear off a man's leg with relative ease.

Of course, the problem was that he was still undead. Though my magic was maintaining his form, as a zombie, he had the traditional weaknesses of fire and ice. If I found a way to eliminate both of those weaknesses, I would have a functionally immortal, unbeatable rodent of mass destruction.

This was what finally spurned me on into learning how to use my **Alchemy** skills.

 **Alteration** was exactly what was written on the tin. It enabled me to alter the physical world around me, as long as I knew the basic constituents of what I was altering, I could change and morph anything into… _anything_.

It was actually closer to a Harry Potter-style _Transfiguration_ than it was to the FMA alchemy I had expected, because there was no pesky law of equivalent exchange limiting what I could or could not change at a whim.

The very second I realized that I had _transfiguration_ abilities limited only by my _imagination_ –

I cheated.

Simply put, video games generally set progression systems which allowed you to go from novice to master, and when it came to spells or magic, your starting value allowed you to cast tiny spells or small embers, and then you got to the big stuff and _firestorms_ at greater levels. Essentially, **Alteration** at Lv. 1 was designed to turn and change small stuff with erring progress, things like changing a piece of stone into a chalk and back – all of that. The smaller the object you tried to **Alter** , the easier and greater the result.

So I went small.

I altered the chemical compounds in the atmosphere to make a geyser of water – converting Nitrogen atoms into Hydrogen and Oxygen in extreme measures. Then, I altered it again to make a spark of lightning by manipulating the Nitrogen atoms. Then, in classic Roy Mustang fashion, I snapped my fingers.

… And immediately learned how idiotic I was for creating a wall of fire inside a building.

Another _snap_ of **Alteration** , and a geyser of water appeared to quench the flames.

The skill hit level 70 after repeatedly and endlessly creating fire and water from exploiting its bugs – and then, I went for the big stuff.

I picked up a random piece of debris, closed my eyes, and pictured on what I needed.

" **Alteration**."

 **754MP Used!**

The high MP demand which was easily more than half of my max amount told me that I had succeeded. In my hand, the piece of debris was gone, and instead, there was a cold, smooth, and shiny bar of gold.

I laughed.

There went any plausible reason to ever work for a living again.

And I didn't even need a Philosopher's Stone to do it.

 **Alteration** eventually maxed out, and I realized that there was _one_ limitation of the power. I could transform a rock into a bird, and a bird back into a rock, because I was the one who created the bird in the first place. I could alter my zombie rat's form to make him smooth, stand upright, and wear an elegant suit like he was the TMNT Sensei in a Butler competition. Yet, however, considering how I failed to turn a random pigeon into roast turkey – I realized that I could not **Alter** already living and existing organic matter, even _with_ a foci.

Additionally, the when I transformed a rock into a bird, it behaved exactly like a rock – motionless, lifeless, and hollow. I had just changed the composition and outward appearance, but I hadn't given it life.

My attempt to do so, however, garnered me the lovely alchemic skill – **Animation.**

Essentially, I could animate statues and objects to life, and they would gain the attributes of whatever they were. Conversely, I realized that this also worked on non-statues and random objects, as I could ' **Animate** ' them into performing a particular task or carrying out a certain duty.

Generally, it was like programming.

 **Animate** _Cup to hover three inches above the floor, animate cup to tilt 30 degrees in the north eastern direction, animate cup to stop tilting after two point eight seconds –_

The more specific the instructions, the better the spell worked.

Fascinating as all of it was however, I realized that I had gotten side-tracked in my side-track – as I nearly forgot all about my original goal of making my zombie rat fireproof and ice proof.

I cracked my knuckles, craned my neck, and slowly, but surely, moved my way up the **Alchemy** skill tree list, with the next item – **Enchantment**.

* * *

 **Six Months After Eva's Death**

 **Congratulations! It's Your Birthday!**

 **You have aged up!**

 **You are now 2 years old!**

I ignored the notification that had popped up in front of me as my eyes opened. Pushing it to the side, I stretched, before continuing my goal of mastering the **Enchantment** skill. So far, even with the hack I had discovered of using **Animation** to fake enchanting objects, the **Enchantment** skill was the trickiest and most difficult thing I had ever attempted to master. There were almost no other hacks I could think of that would be suitable enough for me to use and completely get it.

The problem lay in the insanely numerous methods they were to enchant an object. You could enchant it to burst on fire with certain commands by merging **Animation** and **Alteration** , or enchant it with the soul of a creature to give it that creature's characteristics, or you could enchant it by entrenching it in thick, bloody rituals. Then, there were methods of enchantment such as runes, hieroglyphs, ancient writings, Kanji writing, pictograms, and on and on it went – and you had to use at least _one_ of these methods properly.

The closest I had gotten to **Enchantment** mastery was evident in the object that lay in front of me.

 **Item – Magical Evolutionary Chess Set**

 **Class: Rare**

 **A Magical chess set which can be played on one's on, as the pieces will move and respond based on each prior move made by the human player. The chess set is not sentient, but however, saves and records every game played on it, calculating and analyzing, and learning from its mistakes. The same tactic or strategy cannot be used against it twice.**

With the amount of games I had played on it, my intelligence had gone up by 102 points, and it slightly peeved me when I realized that I could no longer beat my own creation. Ruy Lopez, Scandinavian Defense, Italian Defense, French Defense, Queen's Gambit, King's Gambit – all my best and favorite Chess openings and tactics had been learned by the board, and now, after one thousand, nine hundred and forty eight games in the past six months, I could no longer win.

A cold wind blew into the building, and I shuddered slightly, before waving my hands with a quick spark of **Alteration** and converting a portion of the wall into a cozy fire place. A snap and the fireplace ignited. My gaze turned out to the window, glossed over as it was, it was clear that winters in Gotham City were not the greatest.

Had I ever seen snow before?

I scrunched up my nose.

No – I hadn't. I couldn't remember ever seeing snow before. Ever playing in it or making a snowball. I didn't know how a snowball felt like, how snow felt like.

But, that didn't really matter to me.

Instead, I needed to focus back on mastering Enchantment. Once I had mastered that particular skill, I would enchant my anthropomorphic zombie rat into a creature that was immune to both fire and ice. At that point – there wouldn't be anything truly capable of putting him down. Bullets? No. Swords? No. Laser beams?

…

So, I also needed to learn how to provide **Enchantment** against heat vision, lasers and explosives. That would be interesting.

Also, on the side, I realized that it was about time I started working on my **Nature Magic** skills as well. How far could I push my ability to create vines, grass and leaves? Could I create _specific_ types of grasses and leaves? Could I then, hypothetically speaking, create spices and cannabis from my abillities?

" **Lesser Summon Leaves**."

Time to find out.

* * *

 **One Year After Eva's Death**

 **Title Unlocked: Recluse**

 **Achievement Unlocked: People Are Overrated**

The place in which I stayed was almost unrecognizable.

Whereas it had been nothing but ruins and debris, all of that was gone. The floor was a smooth and beautiful design pattern of tiles which were artistically drawn with each tile possessing a different image, which all together combined into the image of a giant, red, spiraling eye with tomoe.

Comfortable couches were now in an area called the living room. Fluffy and bouncy, with material made from refined animal furs. An unlit furnace was directly in front of this living room. A flat screen television was hung on a half wall to the right of the living room.

To the left side of this room, lay a door to a bathroom. Spacious, tiled in a mix-mash of white and blue with the image of a peculiar water Pokémon attached to the wall tiles of the bathroom. It, like most of the house, was completely spotless.

Adjacent this room, lay a door to another room. A waterbed was center place, the round object possessing the image of a familiar dark-haired, red-cloaked vampire being used as the sheets and covers. It was a rather crude image, considering that the vampire was pictured with glowing eyes and blood-stained fangs. The theme of the room was in alternating shades of black and red, ranging from clouds to symbols and an amalgamation of different kanji.

I sat in the living room, on the chair, with the television switched on, yet, I couldn't focus on it. My fingers scratched repetitively against the couch, the nails tearing through the material and the material re-forming itself immediately after.

The television was switched on – yet, I couldn't hear it. My mind was busy, thinking, recollecting, remembering.

In no time at all, I would have lived on this earth for longer than I had known Eva. Just like that. A person who had felt like the only reason I woke up in the morning, and soon enough, I would have experienced more without them than more with them.

In the past one year, I had thrown myself into distractions. Into sidetracking tasks and activities. I used the justification of self-improvement and testing my powers – but now, in exactly a year, with the aid of shortcuts and innovation, I had mastered nearly every single aspect of Ritual Magic –

Except the _actual_ rituals.

Yet, now that I had nearly nothing left to do, I realized that I would have to go back out into the world again. I would have to leave my comfortable little hoven of solitude and face the outside – and return to this meaningless world of monsters.

And I would have to do it – without a single person beside me.

No.

Maybe – maybe not yet.

There were still other things I could do – I _should_ do, if I wanted to go back into the world of gods and monsters.

Like…

Mastering every single instrument.

A brief usage of **Alteration** on random objects filled the living room up with a grand piano, a violin, a guitar, a set of drums, a flute, a trumpet, a trombone, and a triangle.

Yes… this would do. It would do for now.

* * *

 **One Year and Six Months After Eva's Death**

 **Congratulations! It's Your Birthday!**

 **You have aged up!**

 **You are now 3 years old!**

Easy. So easy. Why had it all been so easy?

People out there in the world devoted years of their lives to total mastery of their selected instruments, and as a Gamer, with just six months of constant practice, of playing, without rest, without sleep, without food, without pause –

 **Musical Mastery Tree – Maxed!**

 **Piano Mastery (Level Maxed)**

 **Guitar Mastery (Level Maxed)**

 **Violin Mastery (Level Maxed)**

 **Percussion Instrument Mastery (Level Maxed)**

 **Flute Mastery (Level Maxed)**

 **Trumpet Mastery (Level Maxed)**

 **Congratulations! As a result of Mastering the Music Skill Tree and being a practitioner of Soul Magic – you have unlocked a special Magic Skill –**

 **Soul Music (Active) Lv. 1**

 **Music which speaks to the soul. To uplift, bring down, seduce or torment – the choice is yours. This power lets your music speak for you, to let your music sway the hearts of man and beast alike.**

 **Title Unlocked: Musical Prodigy**

 **Achievement Unlocked: Lord of Symphony!**

I grit my teeth and tossed my hands into the air.

I didn't _want_ any more useless titles and achievements! I didn't need them! I didn't! I just wanted – I wanted –

I stopped.

What _do_ I want?

I… didn't know.

For the longest time, all I had wanted, was to create a life for myself and Eva. I wanted to make _her_ a better person. I wanted to watch her achieve her dreams. I wanted to see her become something great –

Something beautiful.

She was my everything.

I… _loved_ her.

But – she was dead. Gone. There was no bringing her back. This meant, that my want, my greatest desire, it couldn't come to fruition anymore. It _couldn't happen_. I had to set a new goal, a new reason to continue, a new reason to wake up every morning. A desire. A want.

No matter how crazy, no matter how twisted, no matter how morally repulsive or ignoble. I needed _something_ – _anything_.

 _So… what do I want to do the most?_

What beautiful, sick, deranged and twisted fantasy could I indulge myself in for the rest of my life?

My mother had died as a result of my own machinations, I knew. However, I also knew, that the circumstances of the horrible life she had lived had been brought about by the actions of Carmine Falcone, and the failure of the so-called 'hero' to stop him. I knew, that if Carmine Falcone had not existed, the story would be far, far different.

The police was either corrupt or inept, and Batman would never be able to stain his hands to remove a stain from this earth, in the ridiculously bullshit name of moral purity.

Neither would Superman.

Nor Wonder Woman. Nor Green Lantern, The Flash, Green Arrow, Martian Manhunter –

And so – I realized what my purpose was.

 _Break or eliminate every superhero._

 _Murder or enslave every supervillain._

 _End or conquer the world of Masks and Capes._

It was grand. It was over the top. It would almost certainly get me killed or imprisoned.

But it was something I _wanted_ to do.

I wanted to be the man who _ended_ the Dark Knight.

The person who _bent_ the Man of Steel.

The one who _dominated_ an Amazon.

This was _my_ story. This was _my_ goal. This was the world in which I had found myself, and I would not – _could not_ – sit back and watch this farce any longer. No. I had the power to _change_ things. To _change_ the world.

 _To rule it_.

In a world where gods walked the earth as mortal men, and I would become a legend.

And I would do it –

 _For myself._

* * *

 **ULTIMATE QUEST UNLOCKED!**

 **The World of Masks and Capes**


	7. The Road Not Taken

**And I'm back at it again! Whoo! So - After a lot of revising, re-writing and re-drafting, I finally got what I wanted written down. Things will progress slowly a bit for the mean time (don't expect any world-shattering fights or over-the-top plans straight off the bat) because our hero has been burned once by hubris - he's prone to be more careful about his actions.**

 **Recommendations have been taken into consideration, thanks to Dreamville, Jajo Camello, nightmaster000, Lq480i for suggestions, comments and insights. Much appreciated fellas. To Kenrovan, fear not, more dialogue and interactions will be added, to Zentari2238, prepare for Edgelord 3: Edg, Edge, and Edgy. To Somanjeese, thanks for the support, and to Rocking Red Reaper, yes, I have watched Death March to a Parallel World Rhapsody, and to be honest, this story is kind of inspired by it in a way.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I did not write this story to please anyone but myself. If you are, perchance, pleased by this story as well, it is purely by the coincidence of two people across time and space having similar interests and likes. If you are not - then now you know why. Oh, and I also do not own DC comics and all of that shit.**

 **And also, I stand with the world to grieve for the death of the beloved Physicist Stephen Hawking. He may have been talking about things that I could never wrap my head around, but, it's a sad day indeed, when one of the world's most brilliant minds leave us. You will not be forgotten.**

* * *

 _"The beginning of every new event, story, or wonderful arc, must start with an epic sounding quote italicized and centralized for the purpose of coolness, seriousness, or to show how well learned the author has become."_

 _\- Sir Lucifer Morningstar , Circa 2000_

* * *

 _Haha! You were probably expecting an alarm beep – but no, it is I – DIO!_

 _Haha! You were probably expecting an alarm beep – but no, it is I – DIO!_

 _Haha!_ _You were pr –_

My hand stretched out from under the covers, easily hitting the stop button on the **enchanted** alarm clock, and stopping the Japanese declaration of a sparkly vampire from continuing to invade my dreams – what little of them I had anyway, thanks to **Gamer's** **Mind** giving me near-dreamless nights.

I ignored the cursory good morning notification about how **Health and Mana** had been fully restored and all status effects had been removed from sleeping in my own bed. Instead, I sat up, scratching my head slightly and stretching my arms afterwards, as I gazed back down on my naked form underneath the covers. I rose an eyebrow when it came to me that the covers where also entailing another form. I dragged them off immediately, and came to the sight of a naked brunette.

Oh yeah. It had been one of those nights.

What was her name again? My eyes glanced to her head – Kelsey, yeah, that was it.

"Hey," I whispered into her ear, as she was still sleeping. The response I got was a series of unrecognizable sounds.

"Hey," I tried again. The sounds got clearer this time.

"Hmm?"

"I'd appreciate it if you would kindly get off my bed, get your clothes, and show yourself out."

Her eyes slowly opened at that.

"Wuh?"

"You have twenty minutes before you're late to class and before people realize you didn't spend the night in your dorm room."

The eyes snapped open wider at that. "Oh – OH SHIT!"

I watched her scramble off the bed and begin to search desperately for her clothes, which, were neatly arranged in a pile to the side, and she began tossing them on as quickly as she could. Amusement colored my eyes at the entire scene.

"Shit – Shit – I'm going to be late!"

"Yes, I believe that was what I said not too long ago."

She turned her gaze to me, whilst strapping her bra in a frenzy. "How did you know I was a student at the University?"

I shrugged. "Your age, demeanor, and behavior suggested someone who was educated – however, you didn't exactly have the confidence and assurance of someone who had completed that education. Your purse and bag is filled with pens and notes – your hands had stains of ink gotten easily reminiscent to the shade of the student's choice of pen on them – and you clearly said that you didn't have a job – so I deduced, you were still in education."

She stopped pulling her skirt, to stare at me. "What are you, a detective or something?"

I grinned. "Or something."

"Ooh, observant _and_ mysterious."

"Maybe. Or maybe I just saw your student ID card sticking out of your bag and made that entire thing up to blow your mind."

She turned to her bag, which had its contents spilled on the floor, and the ID card of 'Gotham University' clearly sticking out.

"You ass! I can't believe I almost fell for that!"

"That's because you wanted to. People like to be deceived – it's why magic tricks are so amusing to us."

I gestured my hand out, showing it was empty, before flipping it, and in an instant, an Ace of Diamonds appeared in the spaces between my index and middle fingers. I flipped my hand again, and it was gone – stored back into my inventory, not that she was aware of that bit.

She gave me a long, yet cursory glance, even as she tried to make her hair look straight and finished the touches on her outfit.

"Neat party trick."

I summoned another card once more and tossed it to her, which, to my pleasure, she was able to catch.

"Zeddicus Zul Zorander? That's your name?"

"You can call me Zed for short."

She gave me a blank look. "You're fucking with me."

"No," I said, grinning. "I was fucking with you last night, and seeing as how you're not moaning out God's name anymore, you can be rest assured, that you are not being fucked with."

I tapped the bed.

"However, that can be arranged once more, when you're interested."

She rolled her eyes, but the flush of pink on her cheek gave her away. " _When_?"

"My dear, you would be deceiving no one but yourself should you believe that being with me is a matter of _if_ rather than _when_."

She didn't bother giving me a retort, rather, she couldn't, and instead, she returned her eyes to the card. "Private Investigator, Professional Clearance Agent, Certified Escort and Special Consultant?"

"I also do birthday parties and events. Though I feel my fees might be too exorbitant for you."

I rose from the bed, craning my neck slightly, and feeling Kelsey's gaze roam over my body, which, thanks to a particular skill, was filled with lean, dexterous muscle. "Oh, and by the way, you only have twelve minutes left now."

I watched her scamper off, the minimap indicating her icon confirmed to me that she had left the premises, before I sighed and then moved over to the bed. There it was, a single strand of brunette hair, which I picked up from a pillow and focused as a foci.

There was no need to make any drastic changes, not necessarily. However, a cursory use of **Soul Conditioning** made it so, that she would completely forget the location of my house and my physical appearance – but would particularly remember the wild evening that had begun with me pinning her against the outside wall of a bar and snaking my hands up her skirt.

Once that was completed, I began preparations for the day.

I moved into the bathroom, a particular skill of the Alchemy Tree branch that I learned over thirteen years ago sprung to life, **Animation** , and I watched as the toothbrush floating in mid-air, twirling like a surfer, before slamming down on the stomach of the toothpaste, the required substance shooting out and being caught on the bristles, before the brush made its way to my teeth and began working their literal magic.

I stared at myself in the mirror, or rather, I stared at the form of myself that was created after I had realized that **Alteration** could be used to manipulate photons and light in order to create an unbreakable illusionary form. The form in front of the mirror easily looked what had been my actual age before I died, twenty-one or so. However, I made it so my blonde hair grew out into a simple short ponytail, which was accompanied by a slight stubble of a beard. I had selected this age, particularly because I felt more comfortable around this range than I did any older or younger.

A mental command had the tap turn open, the water defy gravity and enter my mouth, with me giving a gargle before spitting out and completing the rinse.

Once I was done with that, I took a nice, long, comforting shower, particularly just to remove the scent of Kelsey from my own person. That girl needed a better taste in perfume than the cheap one she used.

I walked into the living room with a towel around my waist and hair, and began pointing my fingers at objects over in the kitchen, **Animation** springing to life.

Bread danced and jiggled, flying into the air and landing into the toaster. A pan and a spatula engaged in brief swordplay, before two eggs got in between them, cracking open and landing on the pan, before subsequently landing on the stove, which whirred to life with a burst of blue flame. A bag of coffee beans swayed into the air like a snake commanded by a swami, landing into the machine which turned, enabling a mug to roll its way into the right place.

I gestured two fingers in a 'come here' motion towards the bedroom, and out came my smoothly ironed business suit, making a façade of walking in the air with the chest and tie puffed out, before wrapping around my form. The inner white button up shirt came first, the buttons affixing themselves from the below to the top. Cufflinks flew like magnets and held the sleeves in place. The pants followed suit, and then the inner-jacket and blazer wrapped around my form, just as the black, dragon-emblazoned tie knotted itself snugly around my neck.

I sat, the blazer left unbuttoned, as a familiar 'ding' of the toaster hit my ears, and a tray zoomed overhead with a plate on it like it was Aladdin's magic carpet, catching the toast, swooping the coffee, and flipping the pan to allow the eggs land on the side of the plate, before positioning itself directly to my right side, floating, and ready to serve breakfast.

I snapped my fingers, and the remote appeared to my left hand, just as the large flat-screen TV flared to life.

"…and in other news, from Metropolis, the Man of Steel himself, foiled attempts by a group of unknown criminals who intended on sabotaging the unveiling of the new statue of Superman –"

I munched on a toast. Next.

"… creating great advancements in technology and science, the development of Star Labs' Particle Accelerator is comparable to making a miniature Einstein-Rosen Bridge with the capacity of generating energy waves in the electromagnetic spectrum that is greater than anything imaginable –"

I sipped the coffee. Next.

"… and the ongoing election continues as many are wary to vote Hamilton Hill as Mayor for a second term due to allegations which supposedly put Hill as being connected to numerous crime families of Gotham, particularly the Falcone, Maroni, Ibanescu and Moxon –"

The egg went well with the toast. Next.

"… once again showing the true love and comfort that the Wayne name is known for, billionaire Bruce Wayne makes another sizable donation to the Gotham City Police Department, and is going even further to organize a fundraising auction for numerous of the Wayne family's priceless paintings and artefacts valued in the millions –"

I sat up, a half-munched slice of toast in my mouth.

"… with the likes of billionaires ranging from Oliver Queen to Michael Holt, both contemporaries of Gotham's first son showing up for the event –"

Ah there it was. Mr. Terrific, Green Arrow, and Batman all in one place for the night, occupied. Perfect.

 _OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!_

 _OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!_

 _OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEI –_

My phone levitated into my palm.

"You have reached the phone number of Zeddicus Zul Zorander – this is Zed Rander speaking, how may I help you today?"

" _You son of a fucking bitch! You – you set me up! You fucking set me up!"_

I removed the phone from my ear and cleaned it with a pinky.

"Ah, a disgruntled customer. So who exactly am I speaking to?"

" _It's me! Eddie!_ "

"Ah! Eddie! Finally got those jawbreakers yet?"

" _What? What the fuck are you talking about_? _"_

"Never mind. It's an inside joke." I said, "So, which Eddie is this? With how common the name is and how unimportant you are to my life, it's often easy to forget."

" _You bastard! It's me! Eddie Skeevers!"_

I blinked. "Oh – yeah. You're the guy from that minor crime family that started muscling in on Falcone and Maroni territory with your ' _revolutionary'_ designs in drug smuggling. Didn't Tony Zucco bring up those plans in the first place?"

" _Zucco's dead you fucking asshole!_ "

I blinked. "Ah, well. Unfortunate, but at least that means less competition for you."

" _Are you fucking kidding me? The Falcone's want me dead, the Maroni's want me gutted, the fucking League of Assassins want me beheaded and I'm caught in-between a turf war with Penguin's Gang and Two-Face's gang! All because_ you _asked me to smuggle a fucking crate!"_

"Ah! Perfect!"

" _How the fuck is this perfect?!_ "

"You said you wanted to create the greatest Crime Family in Gotham and rule it – so consider this your first test. If you can't get yourself out of this mess – you're not going to last very long."

" _YOU FUCKING –"_

 _BLAM!_

There was the unmistakable sound of a bullet going off, at an incredibly close range too. Consequently, the phone line went dead. Well, there went one more customer.

 _OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!_

 _OMAI WAE MOU –_

"Hello, you are speaking to entrepreneur and professional criminal consultant, the roguishly handsome and talented Zed Rander. What can I do for you?"

" _Rander you fucking piece of shit!"_

"Ah! Mickey! The Mink himself. How's my favorite Irish head of the Sullivan family doing?"

" _I'm the only head of the Sullivan Family_ , _and I'm pissed enough to send my boys down to pump lead into that skull of yours!_ "

I frowned. "Come on now Mickey – I held up my end of the deal didn't I? You found the crate that Skeevers was smuggling didn't you?"

" _You said there'd be weapons inside of it!_ "

"Aren't there?"

" _No! This is – what the fuck is this shit anyway - Chinese cartoon porn! What the fuck am I supposed to do with Chinese cartoon porn?"_

"Ah… actually, that's _Japanese_ _hentai_ – I think our man Skeevers may have smuggled the wrong crate."

" _And I think, the world is going to be down a consultant by the end of the evening._ "

"Actually, that'd be nice – but you see – I already kinda cut a deal with Akahara-san of the Yakuza. Your goons did some stuff in Chinatown that they weren't too pleased about, so… they should be probably be ambushing you right about now."

Silence.

" _You didn't –"_

"Omai wae mou shindeiru – paddy."

I levitated my cup around, allowing the coffee to settle over the sound of automated gunfire and distinctively Japanese yells, before, once more, the phone went dead.

 _OMAI WAE –_

"Hello! You have reached the sexy and fabulous Zeddicus Zul Zorander – Criminal Consultant Extraordinaire – what may I do for you today?"

" _Zetto Randa – you are dead man._ "

I grinned. "Akahara-san! How's my favourite Japanese Yakuza Boss doing?"

* * *

I idly hummed one of Fairy Tail's opening theme songs in my head, as I sat down backstage and watched the proceedings of the show from the camera and sound check crew behind.

"Mr. Dreyer – the cappuccino you asked for –"

I turned my attention to the young intern, and nodded before taking the cup from his hands. I sipped. The sensation of heat had long become accustomed to my tongue. It was strange, realizing that I could eat and eat and never actually get fat. Gamer's Body came with a ludicrously impossible metabolic rate, which was, more or less, connected directly to buffs than it was anything else.

I watched the proceedings around me, the sound crew doing their best to ensure that the program went smoothly, the bright, red 'On-Air' sign hanging ominously behind them as a reminder that they were responsible for what the entirety of Gotham would see and hear. In another life, or perhaps, even in this one, I wondered if I would ever take up this sort of job. To hang from behind the scenes and operate the program, or to take center stage as the host with a luminescent smile and an audience paid to laugh at my jokes and clap at my words.

Probably not.

"Mr. Dreyer, sir, you're on in five."

I nodded, before I swiveled around the chair I was on, and stood, my clean-cut **Business Suit of the God of Industry** feeling snug, comfortable and warm in the relative cold winter of Gotham. Of course, enchanting a business suit to be bullet-proof, explosion-proof, water-proof, knife-proof and also enchanting the fabrics to stop and absorb all latent incoming kinetic energy in the manner of a certain Black Panther would be considered as insane by some, but it was time well spent as far as I was concerned.

"…and we have a special guest tonight folks! He's one of Gotham's two youngest billionaires, but, he's a new player in the game, with his net worth striking a heavy ninety-seven billion dollars despite his company only existing for thirteen years!"

I stood, rolling my eyes at the audience's clearly exaggerated sounds of surprise and awe.

"Some of you here may know his company – considering how it's been building schools and universities all over Gotham, renovating old homes and creating new places to live, funding scholarships and research works, and hey – it's even got its own newspaper division and cereal!"

This world had been in desperate need of more cereal options.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to welcome, the mysterious and enigmatic founder and C.E.O. of Legend Industries, in his first _ever_ appearance on any television program – Makarov Dreyer!"

I did not walk forward. I _strode_. The ground could have well been water and it wouldn't have made a difference to the amount of effort I put into being as elegant as possible. If one were to look up the dictionary definition of the word 'Gentleman', they would probably have found a picture of me in that moment.

Of course, there was a significant difference between 'Zeddicus' and 'Makarov.' Whilst both had blond hair, Zeddicus' shade of blond was platinum blond, whilst Makarov was a darker, thicker, almost golden blond. Zeddicus had soft, elegant, dare I say it, 'bishounen' features, whilst Makarov had a manlier, rugged appearance and a more heavily built shape in contrast to Zeddicus' slender-muscle. The slightly thick beard Makarov had was also a difference, and the fact that 'Makarov' had green eyes instead of blue was another distinguishing feature.

Oh, and of course, 'Makarov' was 29 years old, and not 21.

I smiled as I walked up to the host, shaking the hand of the person whose name was not worth my attention, and then comfortably taking a seat. The show, _Gotham Tonight_ was some localized version of the numerous celebrity talk show programs that seemed to pervade television these days. Still, I had decided to acquiesce to the interview, because, as it stood, it was about time for me to make a move.

"So, Makarov – mind if I call you Macky? – Tell us –"

The questions, for the most part, were predictable.

"What is the secret to your phenomenal success?"

"Did you ever have any role models?"

"How do you spend your leisure time?"

"Is there anybody special in your life?"

My answers, in turn, were just as obvious.

"Dedication and the ability to take risky, insane decisions."

"Yes, I am my own role model."

"Relaxing, playing video games, travelling and I suppose a bit of chess at the side.

"Not at the moment, no. I'm not quite ready for the settled life."

However, there _was_ a purpose for this, a purpose which I would make outstandingly and overwhelmingly clear, the purpose, of course, which came from the seemingly innocuous question of 'anybody special'.

"Ah, you here that ladies! That's another handsome billionaire out there who's single!"

There were cat calls from the audience. Cat calls, to which, I ignored, and waited, waited, until the question was asked.

"Speaking of billionaires – tell us Makarov, have you ever interacted with Gotham's first son – and what is your opinion of him?"

 _BINGO!_

I took a deep breath, and immediately, I sat up.

There was a sudden silence that completely permeated the entire stage, filling the audience, and even the host himself with my sudden change in posture and demeanor. They could tell, like starving vultures failing to find a dead carcass – that something had changed, the natural order had been disturbed.

"No, I have not had the _pleasure_ of meeting Bruce Wayne. And as it stands, I would prefer it remains that way."

You could almost hear the pin drop.

"Ah – er – wow. That was –" The host seemed flustered. "Is there any… bad blood between Legend Industries and Wayne Enterprises?"

I shook my head. "You seem to misunderstand me. Although we may be competitors, my… dislike, is not necessarily for Wayne Industries, as it is for Bruce Wayne himself."

"The first son of Gotham?" the host asked, perplexed.

"Yes, that one." I said, leaning back into the chair. "You see, this is a matter of principles. I got to where I am today, becoming Wayne Industries biggest competitor with my own sweat and blood. I started Legend Industries when I was _sixteen_. Thirteen years ago – I clawed my own way to the top, biting through until I became the success that I am today. Now tell me, what exactly has Bruce Wayne done?"

At the audience and host's confusion, I clarified.

"As I said, it is a matter of principles. Wayne Enterprises has existed in Gotham for the past _200_ years. As it stands, Bruce Wayne did not so much as _work_ to get his company, as he did sit down and have it _handed_ to him on a silver platter."

The Host cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not quite sure that having your parents murdered in front of you is considered a silver platter –"

I waved my hand dismissively. "I, too, am an orphan. The difference between myself and Bruce Wayne is that I acquired my success _in spite of_ it, and not _because_ of it."

There was silence, and I knew that I had them.

"Speaking of the Wayne Industries and family – their presence has been in Gotham for the past two hundred years. Two hundred – and yet, what do we have to show for it? Rampart crime and poverty, political corruption, inept police forces, and on and on the list grows. You would perhaps think, that the presence of an international billion dollar corporation like Wayne Enterprises would at least, make Gotham a shining city set on a hill – but it isn't. It _hasn't_."

I shook my head. "In thirteen years, just thirteen years, Legend Industries has done _almost as much_ for this city, as Wayne Enterprises in _two hundred_. If that doesn't make you question what motives Bruce Wayne truly has for this City – then nothing will."

* * *

 **XXXXXXXX**

* * *

The cave was illuminated with numerous lights. It was often drafty, with cold winds rushing in through numerous crevices and openings, and the steep drop down into a small lake providing an updraft. This didn't stop the man who stood in front of the machine. If anything, the cold wind was more of a comfort to him than it was a disadvantage. The computer made numerous noises and sounds, whirring, tinkering, processing, even as the man clad in black stared, eyes unflinchingly fixed against the monitor.

"You know, I have been considering moving your bed down here – perhaps the sight of it would suggest the reminder that abstinence from sleep is not your superpower."

Another man entered, the elevator he departed from closing silently, his left hand occupying a tray filled with numerous edible treats and a cup, alongside other ingredients needed to prepare tea.

His response, was a small, noncommittal hum.

The man with the tray sighed, being much older, he moved with a grace that was tremendous for his years, and instead continued with his duties.

"I suppose I am I to take it that there is another venture which requires your immediate attention and me serving breakfast once more in this dreary cave?"

A brief, solitary nod. The man cloaked in black collected the cup of tea, before turning his attention back to the screen.

"There's a pattern."

The older man rose an eyebrow.

"A pattern?"

Another nod, before, the computer screen brought up pictures of numerous individuals, before providing a big red 'X' placed on them.

"It's been subtle, but in the past four months, there have been a series of coups in the Crime Families of Gotham."

He turned his attention to one of the most recent ones.

"The Sullivan family was completely destroyed by the Yakuza just today. Yet, two months ago, the Sullivan family was embroiled in a turf war with the Maroni's – a war which ended in a tie with both sides suffering heavy causalities."

The computers then pointed to another group.

"Before that, the Maroni's were violently going against the Moxons, and before that, the Moxons were at it with the Ibanescu. Most attacks and takeovers happen in the form of ambushes, with either the leaders or key members of a family being in a position that's disadvantageous to them, but advantageous to someone else."

He pulled off his black, pointed cowl, revealing dark hair and a face marred into a scowl.

"What's most disconcerting… is _when_ the takeovers happen. It always coincides with a bigger, more dangerous event, an event in which I would have to focus on rather than the gang disputes… ensuring that there's no possible way I would be able to intervene."

The older man caught on. "You think… someone is… _deliberately_ orchestrating this?"

The man in black nodded. "The Sullivan-Maroni turf war happened while I was on League business. The Maroni-Moxon turf war happened when I was on League business. The Moxon-Ibanescu scuffle as well – all of it, occurring quickly and swiftly, and wrapping itself up before I returned, with more and more Mafioso dropping dead, and with fewer crime families in Gotham."

The older man sighed. "I suppose it's too much to expect it to be a mere coincidence."

"There are no coincidences in our line of work Alfred."

Alfred, to his part, merely sighed once more. "Should I contact Master Grayson? I'm sure he would be willing to take some time away from Bludhaven –"

"No."

"Then perhaps young Master Drake would be willing to depart from the Titans for a brief period –"

"No." The word again, but slightly more clipped.

"Ah, I suppose that only leaves Miss Gordon then. She _was_ complaining about how utterly droll her senior year has been so far –"

"Alfred –"

"Perhaps Miss Kane then? Or would you prefer Master Fox?"

"I'll handle this on my own Alfred."

"As much as I revere your work-ethic and determination Master Bruce, I am afraid omnipresence is a device we have yet to affix to your utility belt."

Bruce Wayne, as he was, shook his head. His eyes instead clocking back to the screen, and narrowing slightly. "I don't need to be everywhere. I just need to be at the right place, at the right time. As it stands, Falcone and Maroni will soon realize that they're being played, pushed and dropped like pieces on a board. Once that happens – they'll be out to find this person."

"And I suppose they're not quite going to invite him to sit and drink tea."

He nodded. "I simply need to find him before they do, and –"

"… _though numerous people have called into question the words of Legend Industries' C.E.O., a shocking discovery makes itself clear that there were no hyperboles in his speech._ "

Both men turned their attention to the computer, particularly the aspect of it that was on the local news.

"Master Bruce… isn't that the alert you set up to discover whenever your name was mentioned controversially in the media?"

"It is."

"I've never seen it come up before."

A slow, laborious nod.

"Neither have I."

"… _as many call into question the truth about Wayne Enterprises role, or rather, lack of a more profound role in the city of Gotham, darker truths begin to bubble after an interview with an anonymous employee of Wayne Enterprises was released to the public, with admissions that Bruce Wayne has been less than the perfect C.E.O., and has, on numerous occasions, been missing from his office for days, weeks or months at a time, with no justifiable explanation given…"_

* * *

 **XXXXXX**

* * *

A small part of me, remnants of the moral compass I previously possessed, felt bad for poor Bruce. I'd opened up a can of worms that would not, and could not easily be sealed or closed. Still, it was needed, and it would only be a matter of time before the dominoes began stacking and everything fell. I wonder what excuse Bruce would give to justify his month-long absences, when he was usually out of the planet with the Superfriends.

Still, the drive back to my work of residence was incredibly more upbeat than I thought. The sleek feel of my Lamborghini Huracan that could go from zero to sixty in two-point-eight seconds and had a max speed of 201mph was capable of making the trip a speed fantasy, which was only accelerated by my own feeling of euphoria.

Thirteen years was a bloody long time. Ever since that day that it all began, the day I decided on my goal, the day I chose my mission, time seemed to advance at a snail's pace, yet, paradoxically, at the same time, it blurred so fast.

Real life didn't have any annoyingly tasking time-skips, unfortunate as it was, and I lived out those thirteen years with a slow, methodological step-by-step process which included having more than one identity, being _incredibly_ careful in generating information and false pasts for these identities, even complete with fake childhoods, faux hospital records and people with false memories.

Then, I had separated both identities.

Makarov Dreyer was the consummate business man and professional. He was sharp, blunt, cutting, and had a no-nonsense attitude backed up by a serious, 'it's all business' persona. Makarov was the part of me that acted my actual mental age of thirty-seven, and the part that was goal-driven to the completion of my ultimate goal.

Zeddicus Zul Zorander however –

The car blazed by on full throttle, and I grinned as I watched the skirt of a woman fly up and give me an excellent panty shot.

Zeddicus was more or less – the wild me. The free me. The fun-loving part of me who remembered, that there was no point in sleeping with women and killing alien god beings if I couldn't have fun doing it. Essentially, Zeddicus was me being me – the amorous, untamed, pseudo-insane philanderer, womanizer and general overall asshole.

When you had **Acting** as a skill which as fully maxed out, I could play both roles nigh-perfectly and lived as though I was the world's greatest method actor.

I _did_ have a third persona/alias… but… well… that was more or less the 'me' that the Joker and Trevor Philips would pat on the back and call their greatest drinking buddy. Basically – it was the 'me' that would slit throats in a dimly lit room with candles, while having an erection at the sight of the dead woman's gargling attempts to survive.

I didn't 'use' that persona unless I _really_ needed to.

Keeping the separate identities however, was somewhat of a chore. Different lives meant different homes, different places of work, and different active times, different social circles, different rules as to what was appropriate and what wasn't – and on and on the list went.

Thank you **Gamer's Mind** for helping me sort through it all.

It was originally out of amusement that I took up the occupation of a Criminal Consultant. It was more of a subtle nod to James Moriarty of my favorite depiction of the British detective Sherlock Holmes than it was anything serious. Of course, as I didn't really need money in one way or another, and ultimately the job was more or less a farce which allowed me to manipulate and set up the gangs and change the hierarchy of the Gotham Underground in one way or another. At least, whenever one of the organized Crime Families came up to me and decided that they were in need of an easily disposable informant.

Other than that, the other 'customers' I had gotten were from overzealous gold diggers trying to find out ways to best kill their spouses or parents and inherit their fortunes, or groups of amateurs and rookies with delusions of grandeur about becoming the next Falcone. Once or twice, people who wanted to 'disappear' would arrive seeking help, and it'd be child's play to use one of my contacts and whip up a fake passport, solving their problems with ease. The pay for this was actually ludicrously good, but when you were a walking Philosopher's Stone, the zeroes added to the back of a string of numbers was superfluous.

Eventually, the line between "Consultant", "Organizer" and "Informant" began to blur, as I hired and took up many of the idiots that came my way with delusions of grandeur. I ensured that the all the rich golddiggers I'd aided in one way or another remembered their debt to me and pulled strings when I told them to. The only legitimate thing I'd done was the Private Investigator bit – which, honestly, was almost too easy. I solved missing cases in less than half a day – and a cursory use of **Gamer's Vision** would always confirm whether the spouse was cheating or not.

Spoiler: They always were.

I pulled the car into the driveway of my office building complex, and let a slightly bemused sigh escape my lips. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that a Criminal Consultant was most certainly not needed in a world of geniuses. Nearly every superhero or supervillain was a genius in one way or another – masters of disguise, espionage, assassination, combat, etcetera.

Even the crazies like the Joker and Harley Quinn had genius-level intellect. What in the world would they need a criminal consultant for that they couldn't figure out themselves?

Hence, I hadn't actually gotten any real supervillains who needed my 'consultation' and instead, I had been sticking to the crime families – eliminating them one after another by helping position them in strategically deadly places. Kind of like I was playing Shadow of War and determining who went up and who went down – except, there was no pesky revival feature for the ones who were killed.

Still, I felt it'd have been amusing if a member of Batman's rogues gallery actually came to me for consultation. With their genius intellect – I could only imagine that they would need help on something _actually_ challenging.

"Speaking of genius intellects… **Status.** "

 **Name: Isaac Zachariah Cabrera**

 **HP: 35,250/35,250**

 **MP: 43,112/43,112**

 **Level: 47**

 **Age: 16 (Appearance: 21)**

 **Race: Human (Homo Magi)**

 **Occupation: Private Investigator, Consulting Criminal**

 **Current Title: The Consultant**

 **Current Alias: Zeddicus Zul Zorander**

 **Aliases: Zeddicus Zul Zorander/Makarov Dreyer/Salem Spellman**

 **Affiliations: Cabrera Family, Gotham Nightlife Association, Gotham Criminal Underground, Gotham Magical Underground**

 **Base of Operations: Gotham City**

 **Alignment: Neutral**

 **Identity: Relatively Known**

 **Citizenship: American**

 **Education: Criminology Degree, Psychology Degree, History Degree, Business Degree, Law Degree, Biochemistry Degree, Physics Degree, Robotics Degree, Medical Degree**

 **EXP: 1,293,043/1,350,000**

 **Money: $97,960,000,000.00**

 **ATTRIBUTES**

 **Strength: 912**

 **Vitality: 2732**

 **Dexterity: 1093**

 **Charisma: 1023 [TOGGLED – OFF]**

 **Intelligence: 840 [TOGGLED –OFF]**

 **Wisdom: 403 [TOGGLED – OFF]**

 **Luck: 349 (+50) [TOGGLED – OFF]**

 **Status**

 **Buffs:**

 **N/A**

 **Debuffs:**

 **N/A**

 **Foils:**

 **(Tragic Origin Story: +50 Luck, +50% Random Encounter Rate of the Heroes/Villains of the world)**

 **(Magical Cost: Hubris)**

 **Boons:**

 **General**

 **(Raised by Strippers: +35% Reputation Gains with Women, +60% Resistance to Seduction Tactics, +60% Boost to Dancing and Seduction Skills)**

 **(Red Light Child: +65% Reputation Gains with Strippers, Prostitutes, Call Girls, Drug Dealers, Pimps, Bouncers, Thugs and the Criminal Underbelly)**

 **Zorander Boons**

 **(Criminal Mastermind: +10% Reputation Gains with Criminal Elements of the world)**

 **(Amoral Consultant: +20% Reputation Gains with Criminals and Evil Characters)**

 **Dreyer Boons**

 **(Rugged Gentleman: +50% Reputation Gains with Women, +25% to all Reputation Gains)**

 **(Billionaire, Genius, Philanthropist, Entrepreneur: +50% to all reputation gains)**

 **Spellman Boons**

 **(Nullified Morality Compass)**

 **(For the Evulz)**

 **Bio**

 **Isaac "Zack" Cabrera, is the world's most reclusive sorcerer who possesses the goal of conquering the world of masks and capes. To do this, he has created three separate identities that will contribute in his grand master plan of slowly, but surely, overthrowing the world. Learning from his previous hubris, Zack wishes to conquer the world in a slow and calculated manner, to avoid any unexpected occurrences. Of course, there is no point in having a life's goal without having a little fun at the side, and Zack is content with spending his wealth, living frivolously, sticking his dick into anything with a pretty face and a skirt, and generally causing subtle chaos and mayhem wherever he goes in his path of conquest.**

I'd long since broken the system. There were no annoying nerfs, no ridiculous reasons as to why I _shouldn't_ have become this powerful in thirteen years, and as such, I had become as strong as I was. Of course, this power had come thankfully with the ability to toggle limiters on my ludicrously expanding stats – if not, my natural charisma would cause quite a stir in Gotham, or my luck would have caused a series of unending string of events to happen to me in one way or another, not all of which were particularly good.

I alighted from my car, beeping the button on the remote and getting the familiar sound of the door locks engaging, before I briefly waved my hand and felt a significant drop in my mana pool. **Alteration** worked its magic, and the Lamborghini metamorphosed into a plain black sedan with no one ever the wiser. With that complete, I patted down my suit and began the way to my office. The entire apartment complex – Illumination Plaza – was actually mine, I had bought it and owned it under a shell corporation, but, I used only one room in the complex as my office, and the rest of the rooms were either occupied by people who didn't even know that they were employed by me. There was a laundromat on the ground floor which I had installed as a brief homage to ISIS –The fictional Intelligence Agency, not the terrorist cell – then the top floors were filled with generally what you would find in this sort of office complex – accountants, brokers, loan sharks and what not.

At the center room in the second floor, was my office.

 _Zed Rander_

 _Private Investigator and Professional Consultant_

I made my way to the door, before stopping just as my hand reached the knob.

The Minimap clearly displayed that there were two dots in my office. Red dots.

I grinned. Damn I needed to start upgrading security in this place.

"Well _hello_ gentlemen!"

As expected, the men were in suits, and equally as expected, glancing up to their heads confirmed to me just who these men were.

"Are you Zed – Zed Rander?"

I grinned even more. "Actually, no, my name is Richard Rahl. Zed Rander is on the next floor."

They both paused, stopping to stare at me, and I sighed.

"You know – it's kind of annoying when _no one_ ever gets your references. I mean, really, what passes for entertainment in this place? You have Shakespeare, Chaucer and Marlowe, Yeats, Wordsworth and Elliot, and hell, even Lewis and Tolkien – but nothing else?"

The two men turned to look at each other, before turning back to me in what was clearly confusion. "The Boss would like to have a word with you –"

"Of course he would. Considering how paranoid that old fuck is." I sighed. "But I guess you don't get to run the largest crime family in Gotham City without being a little twitchy."

Two guns were now pointed in my face.

"The boss would like to have a word with you… _now_."

I rubbed my nose and sighed.

"Please – don't do that. Don't point a gun at me in my own office. Killing you isn't worth the experience points, and I'd like to assume that you have families who may or may not miss you."

"Enough. We're taking you along with us to see the boss and it'd be best if you just –"

One of the men moved forward to grab me, and I rose one hand in objection.

"Don't touch me unless you want to die. No, really. Don't."

He snorted.

To be fair, I _did_ warn him. I mean, honestly, it wasn't my fault that the idiot still attempted to grab me. Hence, I could not be held responsible in the slightest, when he dropped to the floor, motionless. I sighed, patting my suit, whilst turning my gaze to the second man who was present, and who was now clearly shaken as he pointed his gun in my direction.

"What – what the fuck – WHAT THE FUCK – what did you just fucking do?!"

I shrugged. "Intent-based, Soul Vanquishing Suit. You have to have a wisdom score that's at least one-fifth of mine to resist. Unfortunately for your friend here – he seemed to be lacking in that aspect."

I snapped my finger, a brief mental command of **Alteration** and gone was the body, and in its place, was a beautiful potted plant. I ignored the shaking man, before carrying the potted plant and putting it on the allocated space for it behind the window, along with about fourteen more which were there.

"Huh, I'm kind of running out of space."

I turned to the only other man in the room with the gun.

"Where would you like?"

He stared at me, shaking. "W-w-w-what?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm asking you where you would prefer your corpse, reincarnated as a potted plant, to be placed, in my office."

Silence.

"T-t-t-he w-w-w-indow?"

I nodded.

"Good choice."

I shot my hand out.

" **Soul Drain.** "

A few minutes later, when there was a shiny new plant enjoying rays from the afternoon sun on my window, I sat in my chair, before slowly humming the Game of Thrones opening theme in my head, with a cellphone I had taken from the body of the second mook now in my hands.

" _Is it done? Where is the Consultant?_ "

"Ah! Carmine "The Roman" Falcone! If it isn't my favorite head of the Falcone family! How nice to finally have a one-on-one chat with you."

There was silence.

" _The Consultant._ "

I swiveled on my chair. "Oh, is that what I'm being called now? Catchy."

" _What did you do to my men?"_

"You mean the gifts you set me? I've set them up. Thanks for that by the way, they really add a certain ambiance to a room."

" _You have no idea as to who you're dealing with here boy –_ "

"You know," I brought my voice to a dangerously lower tone. "I was about to tell you the _exact_ same thing."

I stood.

"You see, Carmine ol' pal, had you simply gone on your way without bothering me, I would have merely left you alone for the time being. You see, there are flies and worms on this planet who I judge as more important to me than you are – in the grand scale of things, you're like a sardine at the bottom of the sea who believes himself to be Poseidon."

" _You dare –_ "

"And I am going to show you, Carmine. I am going to educate you, slowly, painfully, until you realize your folly, until you realize the price of your own arrogance and ignorance. Until you beg for mercy, until you plead and cry – and until you comprehend, that you're not a god amongst men –"

I chuckled.

"You're an _amoeba."_

I crushed the phone in my hands, before patting away the remains.

Sighing, I stood up, with the realization that a lot of people were going to die this night, and a few women were going to be raped. Also, it was about time Nezumi – my zombie butler rat came back from his training session in my Hell-themed instant dungeon. He'd been grinding there for almost six years now.

I turned my attention to the potted plant on my window, before humming. It really did add to the décor.

"Yeah, I'm gonna call you Phillip."

And with that, thus began my first act as a true megalomaniacal supervillain –

Watering Phillip the Potted Plant.


	8. Convocation

**Yo. So I'm back on this. Not much to say, except this is more or less a set-up chapter. Honestly, I'm surprised this fic has gotten this popular in such a short amount of time. Maybe I'm not making it dark and edgy enough? Hmmm... maybe...**

 **Whatevs. Let's get this on!**

* * *

 **Illumination Plaza**

 **Zack Rander's Office**

 **3:41PM**

What did it mean to be human?

Why was it that humans seemed to place importance on themselves above all things? Religious reasons? Societal reasons? Or was it a feature of evolution and survival that made this necessary?

Phillip lay in my hand, the elegant flower pot almost brimming a lovely shade of emerald-green as I idly tossed it up and down. Anyone who saw it would fail to recognize that this flowerpot was all that remained of a person who had been living, breathing, and a person who was human. A creature that had contained sentience, possessed thoughts, desires, dreams – all of which were meaningless now that said consciousness had ceased, the soul had been absorbed into mine, and the body had been metamorphosed into a plant, to _give back_ to the world, so to speak.

Still, in the past thirteen years, while I wasn't binging on nostalgia from my world, constantly turning everything into a reference and making more and more memorabilia that I could to remind myself, to serve as the proof that the world I came from had been _real_ , I had taken the time to map out my questionably egotistical plans for the universe.

The humans in this world, were, a blend of impeccable genius and laughable optimists. To start with my original question, I realized, that if you shot a person, then you were considered bad - wrong, evil. The reason for this morality was that you wouldn't want to do to anyone what you wouldn't like done to you. It was simple, unless of course one wanted to dab into the religious aspects of the origins for morality to which I was dubiously suspicious of.

Humans don't hurt other humans, because humans wouldn't want to be hurt in turn.

It was simple. Except, in this world, that was where problems began to emerge. As it was, I couldn't even be _considered_ human, and this was just based on genetic make-up, which would put me as a Homo-Magi – a species that was to humans as the Pterodactyls are to the present day avian.

An unfair comparison, some would argue, but the results spoke for themselves. With the power of magic I had, I might as well be a god amongst the common populace. This then brought about the serious question – if, technically, I was not _truly_ Human (ala Homo Sapiens) then why exactly, should the 'Human' laws technically still apply to me? Why, did the half-demons and the aliens on this planet subsume themselves to following 'human' laws when they, themselves, were not?

This also brought an interesting fact, which, I noted, even as I gently placed Phillip back on my table.

Technically – aliens, demons, and gods, and other mythical or otherworldly creatures were not human, and thus, they did not have one thing – _Human Rights_.

The laws in this world were almost similar to that of the normal world where I came from. There were no addendums put in the constitutions that I could see, which covered aliens and supernatural beings. There were, instead, numerous loopholes which would technically allow me to _enslave, rape and murder_ all aliens and supernatural beings I wanted, without ever having to face a single trial – because – they were _not human_.

If I were to shoot a nameless blob of conscious matter straight in the face, no one would bat an eyelash or even try to charge me for murder – because, it wasn't a human that was killed, but an alien creature, and its sentience is irrelevant.

If I were to find a vaguely sock-shaped alien with consciousness, tear it open a new one and use it to masturbate fervently, I'd probably get a few weird or disgusted looks, but no one would consider it as 'actual' sexual assault. It was just a weird looking alien thing – that's it.

Now, imagine if I were to find Supergirl, pin her to the street, stripped her, and fucked her senseless – you could easily imagine the backlash that would occur from the Justice Friends and the universal worldwide outrage.

Ah – but she isn't human either! So what's the difference? Why would people care more about her assault, than that of a sock-shaped alien? Would they consider it wrong because she was sentient, and thus, capable of feeling the pain and ignominy – but so was the blob! But no one would give a shit about the blob or a sock-shaped alien.

It was because, she _looked_ human. Merely because she _appeared_ human. That appearance would cause people to forget the fact that _she wasn't_ _human_. It was the same thing with Superman, with Wonder Woman – if they had appeared, looking like the creatures out of Stranger Things rather than the supermodel visages they currently had, then the world would have been far less receiving of their welcome. They would have been considered grotesque abominations which needed to be removed from the public sight.

It was the same reason, I knew, that Miss Martian and Martian Manhunter used their green-skinned appearances rather than their true Martian forms. It was hard to think of a something that looked so _inhuman_ as anything human with thoughts and feelings, and thus, it was harder to relate or even empathize with it. You could empathize with an animal, but only to a certain degree or extent, after which, it's merely an animal, and as such, you can feel perfectly vindicated doing to it things you would not do to a being of your own species.

You wouldn't neuter another human being nor would you even consider 'putting down' a human being, if they had suddenly lost a limb, or, in extreme cases where they were in a vegetative state.

Where was I going with all of this?

I had come to realize, that as a Homo Magi, I was on top of the food chain. I was on a higher evolutionary state than the common Homo Sapiens, and essentially, I was, or I could become, their _natural predator._

Not in the cannibalistic sense of course – humans didn't make good meat. However, I meant it in the Darwinist, 'survival-of-the-fittest' type sense. You wouldn't fault a wolf for killing a rabbit, nor would you fault a buffalo for killing a wolf, or a pack of lions for killing a buffalo. It was the way things worked. It was nature's order for the weaker beings to hide and cower in the presence of the strong – their so called 'sentience' didn't matter. All animals were capable of feeling pain to some degree or the other, all were capable of emotion and desire. If sentient dragons were to roam the land, would they choose not to feed on humans, because humans also possessed a degree of sentience? When some humans themselves were known to feed on dogs, cats and horses, dolphins and other creatures possessing that same sentience?

The answer was no.

Hence, as a higher being – I had chosen to discard most moral issues, in light of the universal fact that I was a greater being. A 'next step' on the evolutionary ladder. The literal top of the food chain.

 _The Lion does not concern itself with the opinions of the sheep_.

I closed my eyes, and then slowly nodded.

"There. Done. Megalomaniacal/Egotistic Villain Life Philosophy Complete."

I took glance at my wristwatch. "Took me an hour to complete. I'd have preferred going for a nihilistic approach – but I think the Joker has that one covered… or should I mix Cosmic Nihilism with Societal-Darwinism? I don't think there's a villain out there with that philosophy."

I hummed. Perhaps, that would work as a good idea. Though, I'd have to work on developing my cosmic nihilistic perspective – not that there was much work needed to be done on that. The Universe I'm in is the result of the collective imagination of a group of men and artists with a fetish for skin-tight latex and bountifully breasted women. Essentially, nothing I do matters, will matter, or will truly make a difference in the long run. Which, I supposed, was one of the reasons I went out of my way to give _my own meaning_ to everything I did or experienced. And, it was the defining reason why I wanted to conquer the world – because even if _nothing_ mattered at the end, _I_ would know, and _I_ would have experienced, and _I_ would have lived, in a world, where _I_ had interacted, fought, defeated and conquered _Superheroes._

 _Simply because I could_.

"Alright, what's next on my villainy checklist?"

I traced my hand over a piece of paper I brought out from my Inventory.

"Masterminding from the shadows, check. Badass Evil Villain threats, check. Developing an evil villain Life Philosophy, check and check. Attaining a devoutly loyal Second-in-Command – Oh, haven't gotten around to that one yet."

I wondered how the treatment from the Hell-Themed Instant Dungeon had treated my zombie rat minion so far? Perhaps he'd make a good lieutenant?

I cracked my bones and thrusted my hand open.

" **Instant Dungeon – Open.** "

And then, there was a bloody heavy rush of hot air.

* * *

 **~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition**

 **Africa**

 **Forests of Osun**

"Why do they have to be so many mosquitoes?"

Although by day, she masqueraded as a quirky, talented magical act, at night, and, usually, numerous other times, Zatanna Zatara was one of the world's leading magical experts. Her name was often mentioned side by side with the likes of John Constantine and Blue Devil, when the Justice League faced enemies of the magical variety that they could not defeat with normal rudimentary means.

One of such instances, was now.

The magician came to a stop in front of what seemed to be a red, decorated shrine kept in place, with human skulls surrounding an item that could only be described as a 'calabash'. Except, there was a pedestal, a pedestal on which an object was supposed to placed, a grave and deadly object, which was now clearly missing from its spot.

" _Justice League to Zatanna – this is Vixen, do you copy Zatanna?_ "

The magician immediately pushed on her speaker.

"This is Zatanna. I hear you Vixen."

" _Well? Did you find it?_ "

"No. The Amulet of Eshu is gone. Faust must have gotten to it before I did."

" _That amulet –_ "

"I know, I know, it grants the wielder the power of the trickster God Eshu and the abilities to summon and control lesser demons –" She said irritably, "I won't let it stay in Faust's hands."

" _I'll keep an eye out for any sightings of Faust or gangly demons showing up._ "

She nodded, slightly, before her eyes went wide as she cartwheeled out of the way to evade a spear which struck and went _through_ the tree that had been behind her seconds ago.

"I've got to go – something tells me that the locals aren't too happy about having their artefact sto –"

She felt _it_.

It was as though the gravity of the world had suddenly been taken and compressed, forced upon her shoulders with an indescribable weight. As though all of the world's fears and nightmares had coalesced into a single point on the planet, and a _creature_ from the darkest, deepest recesses of hell had been summoned to the world.

The overwhelming magical pressure brought her to her knees, and she grasped her chest with both hands to try and force her lungs to continue to inhale air, even as the feeling of _evilevilevilevilevilevil_ continued to sing around in the air.

 _Vilemonstrouschaoticabomination_ –

Then all at once, it stopped.

Air could return to her lungs.

She found herself capable of breathing again, and realized, idly, that she was shaking, _shivering_ even.

Around her, the locals had all collapsed on the floor, praying; praying to their gods for protection.

" _-tanna, -atanna, Zatanna! Do you copy? Zatanna!_ "

Slowly, she forced her still shuddering hand to reach for the receiver.

"I-I-I copy. I'm… here."

" _What happened? You just went off for almost thirty minutes and I could hear screaming –_ "

Thirty minutes? She – she had been screaming?

"Something… _something_ powerful… ancient… something incredibly, incredibly _dangerous_ …"

She shuddered at the feeling of _wrongness_ that came back to her.

"I think – I think an Eldritch Demon was summoned to earth. Anyone closely connected to magic in the world would have felt its presence – would have been _affected_ by its presence –"

" _An Eldritch Demon?"_

"An ancient demonic being with the powers of a god, born from chaos and darkness – they're one of the strongest types of Demons – like – like…"

She shuddered, feeling incredibly cold and exposed. "I need to contact John, Blue Devil, Dr. Fate – we need to find this _thing_ , and we need to either _seal it_ or destroy it – before it completely destroys us."

An Eldritch Demon here, in the world?

She could not imagine the fates of the poor, unfortunate human beings that would get in its way, and the complete and utter chaos and destruction it would bring.

Oh, what poor soul out there, was currently undergoing the torture of such an inherently evil being?

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Illumination Plaza**

 **Zed Rander's Office**

"Would you lower your damned magical signature before every rookie magician and his unborn child comes down to Gotham?!"

The creature, standing, easily reaching seven-foot-tall, with the head of a rat, the horns of a goat, the tail of a devil, the claws of what could be a tiger, turned to stare at me in seeming confusion.

" **Who dares summon the King of Hell?** "

I stared at him. Blankly.

" **You – Mortal – tell me – how is it that I have found myself in the human world after eons of –** "

" **Soul Slavery.** "

I allowed the magic to immediately take control over his form, letting out a small yawn as I did so.

" **You – you dare –** "

" **Soul Conditioning.** " I said, ignoring the look of indignation on his face. " **Reset: Default Butler Archetype – Nezumi. Set Character: Laid Back and Easygoing. Occasional Deadpan Snarker. Slightly Sarcastic. Set Appearance: Nezumi – Juuni Taisen. Set Loyalty Parameter: Infinite and Unbreakable.** "

I watched as the changes slowly began to occur.

" **You – You – You will pay for this ignominy! I am the King of Hell! I have conquered and devoured countless demons! I – I – I –** "

Gone was the giant beast, and in its place, was someone who could easily pass for twenty, with white hair, dressed in an elegant suit and a button-up tie. The man, blinked, once, and then twice.

"I… was I saying something, just now, Master Zack?"

"Oh, just how you were going to clean the toilet bowls with your tongue."

Nezumi blinked. "I… did?"

"Yes, but I told you that it would be unhygienic. You can just use the toilet brush instead. No need to be so zealous."

He nodded, slowly. "Of course, Master Zack. Forgive me, I sometimes get carried away in your service."

I rose an eyebrow as I watched him depart. Mhmm… maybe he wouldn't be too good as a lieutenant after all? I didn't want a sycophant as my second in command after all. Should I look into recruiting one of the numerous villains or villaineses instead? Probably after I'd broken them in of course.

Or, wait, wouldn't breaking them turn them into sycophants as well?

Damn. The whole being a villain thing was actually slightly more complicated than I thought it would be.

Still, what _had_ caught my attention about Nezumi was the power levels he had been emitting, which, seemed _way_ too much for just six years in an Instant Dungeon. A cursory activation of **Gamer's Vision** was needed.

 **Name: Nezumi**

 **Level: 666**

 **HP: EX**

 **MP: EX**

 **Age: Ancient**

 **Race: Undead/Demon/Rat Hybrid**

 **Occupation: Butler**

 **Title: Hell's Connoisseur**

 **Current Alias: N/A**

 **Aliases: N/A**

 **Affiliations: Cabrera Family, Zack Cabrera**

 **Base of Operations: Gotham City**

 **Alignment: Indisputably Loyal to Zack Cabrera**

 **Identity: Unknown**

 **Citizenship: N/A**

 **Education: N/A**

 **Bio**

 **Nezumi is an Eldritch Demon Butler in the service of Zack Cabrera that started off as a normal undead rat. First by cannibalizing on members of his own species, Nezumi evolved further into a fearsome Zombie Minion, but it was only until being sent into an exact replica of hell courtesy of Zack's Instant Dungeon, that Nezumi evolved into a demon by cannibalizing on the demonic enemies present in Hell. However, as a day in hell equals a single second on earth, by the first day, Nezumi had already spent 236 years in the Hell instant dungeon. By the end of the six years, Nezumi had spent 500 Millennia in Hell, feeding endlessly on the repetitive spawn and varieties of demonic creatures that existed, amassing a legion of skills and powers and gaining sentience which, along with the extreme passage of time, led him to forget about his creator Zack.**

 **Note: Characters with stats or levels of the designation 'EX' refer to individuals, who, due to certain circumstances or special conditions, cannot be classified into any particular level or cannot be assigned a numerical digit which accurately defines their abilities.**

"Oh."

Although I could remember watching the Constantine Movie at one time, and even reading the comics, it had completely skipped my mind about the whole 1 day in hell is equal to 1 second on earth thing. Considering my dungeons were mimicked dimensions, it only made sense that the same logic would apply to it.

Still, it was good that I had Nezumi around. I wouldn't really consider him as a 'second-in-command' just yet, but more of a minion for now.

"So… what else is on the list – ah yes," I grabbed the paper, before looking at the item on it "Obligatory closure of tragic backstory, and introduction to the world as a villain."

I folded the paper in half, allowing it to dissipate into my inventory.

"Nezumi."

In a blur of flame, he appeared before me, wearing rubber gloves and still having a toilet brush in hand.

"Yes Master Zack?"

"By this evening – 'Zed Rander' will most likely be the most wanted person in Gotham," I said dryly, "So, I want you, within the span of now and midnight, to find a suitable, isolated spot in Gotham City, and use your powers however you like, to turn it into a supervillain hideout that would make Superman's Fortress of Solitude look like a retarded kid's sand castle in comparison."

He bowed. "Of course, Master Zack. Would you prefer this hideout to be above, or underground?"

"Underground."

"Of course, Master Zack. Would you prefer it to be cloaked from normal means of detection, and connected to a separate pocket dimension only accessible to you?"

I rose my eyebrow. "You can do that?"

There was a ferocious grin on his face. "For you, Master Zack, I can do – _anything_."

I think I may need to revise Nezumi's role. He'd _definitely_ make a kick-ass lieutenant.

"Might I inquire about what exactly would be making you a wanted man tonight Master Zack?"

Oh, and he was _curious_ too!

"Oh, I'll just be sending a message to Carmine Falcone – you know. Taking my time in slowly orchestrating his eventual death and gaining 'revenge' against him for killing my mother and all that."

"Master Zack, do you… despise, Carmine Falcone?"

I frowned. Did I? _Shouldn't I_? He did kill my mother after all – and he orchestrated events which led to my mother's horrible life – but, if not for those events, I wouldn't even exist today.

"I… can't say."

Nezumi nodded, slowly. From the corner of my eye, I saw him bring out a notepad and a pen.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking notes, Master Zack."

I rose an eyebrow even further. "Why?"

"To understand," he said simply.

"To understand what? Me?"

"No, Master Zack." He said, shaking his head. "To understand… everything."

Had I cared more to ponder on those words, they would have given me some pause. Alas, I didn't. And so, they didn't. And I shrugged it off as the newest eccentricities of my companion.

My mind was instead focused on testing the waters of my villainy – and of course, doing it with textbook, idiosyncratic precision.

 **REVENGE QUEST –** **Blood Is Thicker**

 **Accepted.**

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition

 **Chicago**

 **7** **th** **November**

 **4:45 PM**

There was one unique fact about Chicago, which separated it from numerous other cities in the world.

Chicago did not have a resident superhero.

There were numerous people who patrolled the streets and skies from time to time, ranging from Supergirl to the Elongated Man, but there weren't any major players in the city. There were fewer metahumans and super-powered psychotics around with grand or ludicrous plans to blow up the city or kill everyone with laughing gas.

This was one of the few reasons that the Viti family reigned as the supreme crime organization in the city. Carla Viti, the family's matriarch and main founder, was the daughter of Vincent Falcone, and the sister of Carmine "The Roman" Falcone. She had come from a city of psychopaths and darkness, a city that had something in the water capable of producing specimens which would leave the entire entourage of hell baffled and feeling incompetent in their ability to create suffering and chaos.

Carla Viti née Falcone felt that this suited her just fine. She did not need any ridiculous fool clad in a bat costume suddenly arriving and disrupting her business. She did not want, nor fancy the concept of having to deal with any of the world's masked crusaders. She especially did not want her daughter, Lucia, or her son, Johnny, to be involved in any of that.

Of course, her brother, the fool he was, probably hired those… 'costume freaks' in his city to maintain his empire. She shook her head distastefully at the idea. The lion did not hire a hyena to help operate its pride. She knew, that one day or another, his choice in using those freaks would end up being the end for her brother. The masks were bad for business in every single way possible, and it would be best to avoid them.

Still, Carla frowned as she made her way towards one of the family's locally owned restaurants. It was unusual, and far too sudden that her son Johnny had called for an emergency meeting. As far as she knew, everything had been moving smoothly so far – their business was almost completely unimpeded, and they had already eliminated nearly every other organized crime family in Chicago. They practically owned the city, yet, Johnny had called to tell her that there was something which had come up, something which could potentially end their reign over the city.

"Ah, Madam Viti – "

"Spare me the bullshit pleasantries and show me where my son is."

"O-Of course – ma'am –"

She snorted at the host's cowed expression, which might have been the result of her having come with six of her best men, all in black suits and glasses, and they certainly were not shy about brandishing their guns.

"Mama?"

She turned her attention to side, a voice catching her attention. "Lucia?"

Her daughter, Lucia, young and beautiful, a reminiscent of Carla's own more youthful days, stood to the side, with two guards of her own.

"Johnny called you here as well?"

She nodded, and Carla's frown grew. What could be so serious that would require both of them here at the same time?

The restaurant was completely cleared out, all the chairs and tables were empty, and –

She stopped.

"Where's the staff?"

No one was here. No waiters. No cleaners. Nothing. She turned her attention back to the host –

He was gone.

Her daughter caught on quick, and her men as well became shifty.

"Something's wrong."

The slow, heavy, sound of a man clapping his hands together easily echoed across the room, the sound seemingly coming from everywhere and from nowhere at the same time. The sound increased in tempo, in crescendo, and she watched as her men rose their guns, entering into a defensive formation around herself and her daughter, each of them trying to find where the sound of the clapping was coming from.

"Hello ladies. Forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm, but, as much as I would have liked to put effort into my introduction, it won't matter in the long run."

A man _rippled_ into existence, right before their very eyes. As though light itself reflected around his very form, he appeared, with platinum-blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, possessing a slender form in an elegant suit that looked custom made and incredibly high quality.

"Who are you?" Carla snarled, "What the hell have you done with my Johnny?"

The man, his form slouched in a somewhat lazy gait merely yawned. "My name is Zack Rander – professional criminal consultant, jack of all trades and eventual greatest villain of the universe. Pleasure to meet you." He took a long, exaggerated bow. "I killed your son because males are easily disposable, and I'm here to make you a deal in which you may or may not survive – depending on what you choose."

"Kill him!" She growled.

Silence.

"I said kill –"

"And who exactly are you talking to?"

"My men of cou –"

Gone. They were gone. She could have sworn, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had come to the restaurant with at least eight men, and that her daughter had also come with two. She could also have sworn, that these men were in front of her less than a second ago, in a defensive position. Now, all she saw, were flakes of what looked to be light, or, pixels, disintegrating into nothingness.

As such, she found herself there, with her daughter, alone, with the strange blond-haired man who was merely giving them an incredibly amused smile. It was a smile that was chilling, a smile which spoke of the fact that he knew something that they did not, a smile, which sent shivers running down her spine, made her hair stand on edge, and sent a lump to her throat that she could not swallow.

It had been a long time since she felt fear.

On instinct, she reached for her purse, for the gun she always kept in it, and she brought it out in one swift move, pointing it in the direction of the man –

He _groaned_.

"A gun? Really? You might as well try to fight Cthulhu with a spork."

There was a _blur_.

One second, he had been across from her, and the very next, he stood in front of her, his head pressed against the barrel of the gun, and his hand, clapped against hers like a vice-grip.

"I would recommend shooting me in the head – right here, directly in between the eye-brows, and now that it's at such a close range, there's no chance of you missing."

Carla found herself shaking, _shivering_ , even, from the sight of the insane man in front of her, a man who clearly had no regard for his life. She couldn't pry her hand away from his grip, no matter how hard she tried, and he instead looked up at her with a perked eyebrow.

"I didn't take you for the scared type. It's just a pull of a muscle, the single flex of a finger, and then – that's it – I'm gone. Surely you know how it works?"

Of course she did, she had fired the gun more times than she could care to count. Yet, even as her eyes slightly diverted to the side, to catch her daughter's equally frightened and unsure look, she had no explanation as to why she could not fire the weapon.

"You've killed dozens of people in this City haven't you? Your little organization shakes down money from hard working folks, grabs confused and desperate boys from the streets, turn them into cannon fodder to enrich your pockets, and barely bats an eye when they die – because, well, I guess it just means they weren't good enough to survive the business."

He was still staring at her, but now, his eyes seemed to have grown incredibly dull, almost bored and sleepy.

"Had I been a vigilante, I would have said this killing you would be justice – but I'm not, and good and evil are such arbitrary terms that I couldn't care less if you'd been carving pregnant women open."

He _crushed_ her hand.

She immediately let out a large scream, a curse, as blood spurt forward from the _stump_ that was now her wrist – with the entirety of her right hand completely gone, and her gun now crumbling into dust.

"Mama!"

"Lucia – _no!_ Don't come any –"

Her daughter had lunged forward, lunged forward, her own pocket pistol in hand –

 _BLAM!_

 _BLAM!_

 _BLAM!_

There was silence, for a few seconds, as the blond man's head snapped back, and hung in place.

"Shat whash a chloshe one."

He leaned his head back forward, grinning, as three, _smoking_ bullets lay, caught in-between a sparkling layer of white teeth.

He spat the bullets out, before craning his neck, a series of sickening cracks echoing from it.

"Good attempt. But, unfortunately, not good enough."

Lucia managed to step backwards, uncertainty filling up her face, before, she rose her gun up one more time –

"Tell me,"

She resisted the urge to scream, as the voice had come directly behind her, and a hand had placed itself on her shoulder, and she realized, belatedly, that she could not move.

The blonde man _smiled_.

"Do you know what the definition of insanity?"

Seeing as she was paralyzed, with fear, the smile wiped off his face. He merely let out a simple sigh, before shaking his head and turning to Carla, who was bleeding from the stump that was now in place of her hand.

"Here's the deal: There are three options. Option 1: You willingly agree to become my eternal brainwashed slaves and servants, have your personalities altered, your body experimented on and changed, and generally, well, you stop being 'you.'."

He yawned again.

"Option two – you refuse option one, and you are tortured and defiled for an unknown period of time by and unknown period of assailants, until you are eventually killed."

The two women were shaking, yet, they couldn't stop themselves from continuing to listen to the incredibly dangerous man in front of them.

"Option three – one of you picks up that gun, and shoots the other person straight in the forehead with it, winning a chance to go home scot-free, and put this terrifying experience behind you."

The silence was thick.

"So, your options are eternal subservience, rape and death, or killing your own family. What's it going to be?"

* * *

So far, the 'bored' approached seemed to be working just as well, if not even more terrifyingly well than my previous 'happy and upbeat' approach. Perhaps, it worked even better, because, it gave the impression that they were so far beneath me, and this entire event was so trivial that it wasn't even worthy of my full time, attention or alertness. In contrast, going with the happy approach would have made them think I was just an insane person – which wasn't what I wanted.

Regardless, I didn't exactly know what to say, nor was I even somewhat slightly surprised when, after giving them the instructions, Lucia Viti lunged forward towards the gun on the floor, her _mother's_ gun, and shakily, but steadily, rose it up against Carla.

To say that the elderly woman was shocked would have been the statement of the century.

"Lucia – you – you –"

"I-I'm sorry Mama – but, this is how it is –"

 _BLAM!_

To my credit, I barely flinched at the sound of the gun going off – and let me tell you, these things are _loud as hell_ in person, far louder than Hollywood movies made them out to be. Of course, that aside, I watched as Carmine's sister slumped to the ground, a bullet now lodged firmly in her skull.

To be honest, she was going to die anyway from blood loss from her hand if it hadn't received the proper medical attention. Killing her with a bullet was just accelerating the process.

"S-So… I did it right? You – you're going to let me go – right?"

I blinked.

"I said you'd _win the chance_ to go home scot free and I'll keep that."

I turned to my watch.

"You have ten seconds to get home before that chance is over."

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Falcone Estate**

 _The sound of heavy grunts followed by the wild neighs of horses filled the air._

" _Oh please God no! Please! Please! OH GOD! OH GOD!_ "

" _Make sure you look into the camera Lucia – oh, and smile – spread those legs a little bit wider – I think Bojack might appreciate it if you did."_

" _P-please – stop – why – why are you – doing this?! Why?!"_

" _Other than you being part of a mafia family? Well – this is a treat to all the good folks of the world – and of course, a message – to the one and only – Carmine-fucking-Falcone_."

 _There was a loud scream followed by a heavy neigh._

" _So, Falcone ol' buddy, ol'pal – Hide yo wives, Hide yo kids, and hide yo-self – 'cause The Consultant is coming for ya."_

The television screen went blank. The room was deadly silent. No one moved. No one spoke. Only the fan of the study whirring and slicing through the air above dared make noise.

"How many?"

The question cut through the silence like a razor blade through paper.

The men in the room stared at each other, confusion apparent on their faces, before one finally spoke up. "Sir?"

"I'm asking – how many people have seen this video?" the silence grew. "Well? How many people in the world have seen my niece get fucked to death by a horse?"

One of the men, the braver, or stupider amongst them, spoke. "Sir… the video was uploaded… to numerous porn sites across the world – XVideos, Pornhub –"

"How. Many?"

The same man, belaying stupidity swallowed. "As of this evening alone, sir… seventeen million – and counting. The video – it – it's gone viral – Uptight Mob Gal Get Loosened by Wild Stallion Cocks for the First and Last Time – people in the Philippines are already making it into a meme –"

 _BLAM!_

No one flinched or moved, as the man who had been speaking suddenly had his brains splattered across the wall.

"This – this is unacceptable." Carmine spoke, his voice a deadly calm. "It seems that we may have an upstart vigilante who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty – and he's made a very, _very_ deadly mistake."

The gathered men said nothing, partly due to the stench of shit and blood slowly encompassing the room, and partly due to the smoking, double-barreled Shotgun still in the hands of the Falcone family boss.

"Let it out now – I want a bounty placed on his head. On this… Zed Rander. The bounty is doubled if he's brought in alive."

One of the men, the one in charge of financial activities and contacts in the underworld, came forward, nodding.

"How much should it be sir?"

The amount was given.

The man couldn't stop his breath from hitching in his throat. "Sir –are you sur–"

He suddenly found a still warm shotgun barrel placed on his throat.

"Did I stutter?"

Wisely, the man shook his head. "N-N-No sir – y-you did not."

The barrel was removed from the throat, and Falcone tossed the weapon into the hands of someone else.

"He attacked my family – raped my sister. Anything less would be an insult." He put his hands behind his back.

"I'll be in my room; do not disturb me unless you've caught the Consultant. In the meanwhile, double the security around my wife and contact my idiot children. And get someone to clean up the fool – his blood is ruining my carpet."

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Batcave**

 _#OHMYGOD HAS ANY 1 SEEN DIS LINK?!_

 _#VitiRape Wait… did THE Lucia Viti just get fucked to death a horse?_

 _#I'veneverbeenintobestialitybut I don't know what's worse – that I watched the whole thing – or that I jerked off to it._

 _#VoteBojack That horse deserves to be our mayor! It's done more to fight crime than Hamilton Hill!_

 _#TheConsultant Consultant my nigga, you da real MVP!_

 _#WhoistheConsultant? Is this guy a new hero? Is he a villain? He doesn't even wear a mask! He's kinda dreamy though._

 _#TheConsultantVsFalcone Who's ready for the greatest grudge match of the fucking century?!_

"It's worse than I expected."

A man said, his eyes glued unto the screen as the torrent of hashtags and other news and tweets about what was easily becoming a country-wide controversy. The news stations had not yet covered it, particularly because of the graphic and obscene nature of the act. Then, there was also the fact that the case had been swept under the rug by the Chicago City Police. None of them were interested in finding the bodies of the Viti women, and they were content to turn their faces aside to the brutal nature of the crime.

As far as they were concerned, the villains had gotten their just deserts, and were not deserving of sympathy.

Except, Batman did not particular care about being _sympathetic_ to them either, but he didn't want them to _suffer and be tortured_. Criminals or not, they had been _people_. Yet, everyone seemed to forget that.

"So it seems Master Bruce." He said, glibly, before raising his arms to point out two suits. "Would you prefer the Black Tuxedo, or the White?"

Bruce frowned. "You can't be serious Alfred."

"Oh, yes, pardon me Master Bruce. Black is clearly the obvious choice."

"Alfred – there's a new villain out on the loose who kidnapped and tortured a woman – I don't have time to attend this ball –"

"It's a _fundraiser_ , Master Bruce," Alfred corrected sharply, "A fundraiser for the police department, in which many of your family paintings would be sold or auctioned off, for the benefit of Commissioner Gordon and his men."

"Alfred –"

"If you'll forgive me Master Bruce, but your name has already come up in the media, _just this afternoon_ , and it deeply grates me to have people questioning your honor and motives. But, as they cannot understand nor will they ever know the true reasons, I have no choice but to merely let them continue." He said, almost sternly. "However, I see no reason to give them extra ammunition to continue this war against your family name, and you failing to attend an event to which _you_ organized, would be doing exactly that."

"What did you say?" Bruce snapped up, his eyes narrowing.

Alfred rose an eyebrow. "I said your name has already come up –"

" _Just this afternoon."_ Bruce said, rapidly turning his attention back to the Batcomputer.

Alfred, as well, frowned. "You do not believe it to be a coincid–" he stopped. "Of course. _There aren't any._ "

Bruce Wayne's name being smeared now, at the same time this mysterious puppeteer pulling the strings of the Crime Families had decided to make a major move into the world? Had decided to stop hiding in the shadows and had committed perhaps, one of the most vulgar and unbelievable crimes seen in Gotham till date –

There was no way it could all be a coincidence.

The two events were related. Bruce was certain of it.

The only question, was _how?_

"Forgive me Master Bruce, but, I do not think that is the most pressing concern at the issue."

Bruce frowned. "Alfred, the fundraiser can wai –"

"I am afraid I am not referring to the fundraiser either Master Bruce – I am referring – to _that_."

The masked man turned his attention to the screen, with a notable alert on it. An alert, which, he had only gotten due to pawning it off numerous members of his rogues gallery, which was often sent to those in the business of 'collecting'.

"This… this…"

"Will bring hell, to Gotham."

* * *

 **Meanwhile...**

News in the Underworld travelled fast. Bounties, however, traveled faster.

* * *

 **Starling City**

A man sat on a bed in a motel, slowly cleaning the barrel of his gun. The weapon, a sniper rifle, sheened, just as a small, black phone buzzed.

The man took a look at the phone, before placing it down. He rose his rifle into the air, spinning it, and looking through the scope, the picture of someone with blonde hair and blue eyes already envisioned at the other end.

* * *

 **San Francisco**

The sound of swords clashing, grunts of exertion, and the silhouettes of agile movement came to a stop with the sound of a buzz from a phone.

A man with an eyepatch covered on one eye moved over to the device, before his eyes narrowed at it.

"We have a new target."

* * *

 **Central City**

"I thought you said we don't _do_ Gotham. That we're _never_ doing Gotham."

"For this amount of cash, offered on some bloke's head? I think we can make an exception."

* * *

 **Nanda Parbat**

"It is unusual for Falcone to be this generous."

A group of men and women clad in black, knelt, bowing before another man with a long beard. In their front, knelt a woman with black hair and an elaborate, cat-themed mask.

"Nevertheless – such generosity, is not wise to squander. You may proceed on this task."

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Underworld**

"KGBeast, the Terror Twins, Tally Man, and every single fucker in Gotham is out there to trying to get that reward!" A man, his face cloaked completely in what appeared to make it seem like a black skull, spoke.

"Now, imagine, boys, what _we_ would do with that cash? Imagine forcing ol'Falcone to cough it all up? We're not taking any chances gentlemen – its winner takes it all!"

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Burnley Districts**

She had been planning on a simple night out. Just go out, scope out the fundraiser that Bruce Wayne was holding and try to see if she could so brusquely borrow anything or two that caught her fancy. It was supposed to be a relatively simply thing.

Now, she knew that the city was going be the closest thing to a warzone, and that the fundraiser was probably not the safest place to be.

Still, she allowed her lovely feline companion to jump into her arms, as she stroked it's back, wondering, just who on earth was The Consultant, and just what exactly, such an innocent looking young man could have done to make Falcone so pissed.

It was a shame she was primarily a thief and not an assassin or bounty hunter.

Lord knows she would have killed for that Five Hundred Million dollars.


	9. First Contact I

**Oh gods, it was funny reading the reviews of a guy who said I went too far and got too dark last chapter. I mean, Jesus, I finally understand how people can do shit like eat soap without looking at the warning labels. Warning Labels exist for a reason you know. Don't be dumb - out of one million sperm you were the fastest, so try to act like it.**

 **Back to the lovely reviews and reviewers on the other hand - you guys make my day. Thanks for the support and ideas, I'll try and see which ones can be taken into consideration.**

 **Also, I would recommend reading "Have Scythe, Will Travel" or "A Motherfucking Dragon" if you are like me and enjoy _really_ dark works and shit. Can't remember the authors - but Google should help you out with it.**

 **Meh. Back to the story!**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **7** **th** **November**

 **Gotham City Center**

 **7:00 PM**

The only benefit, he mused, was the fact that there were other heroes in the city.

The sound of camera clicks, followed by the crescendo of brilliant flashes immediately drew his attention as he stepped out of the limousine. He gave Alfred a brief cursory nod, before putting on his best smile and waving his hand in the manner that had been practiced tirelessly.

"Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne! Over here!"

"Mr. Wayne! What do you have to say about the allegations of Wayne Industry incompetence?"

"Is it true that you take long leaves of absences from your company Mr. Wayne?"

Answering the reporters was not an expedient on his part, nor was it the main focus of his night. Although his suit was elegantly ironed, this was not the suit he would have preferred wearing this night. His eyes were making broad glances disguised as mere glimpses towards attractive women. Instead, he was searching, thinking, calculating – the possibility of threats at every corner – the possibility for chaos to immediately spring up, for innocents to be murdered – simply because he had to maintain his secondary identity.

The red-carpet which led into the large amphitheater that was the city center eerily painted a picture of the blood that would run down the streets of Gotham. Even as he walked forward, he ignored them, with the traditional billionaire playboy smile on his face, seeming either unbothered or uncaring of the rumors swirling around his family name.

By the time he had entered into the building, with the thankful aid of the security protocol who kept back the hordes of desperate and over-eager reporters, he had already done a headcount and an extensive examination of possible threats, as well as taking into account the fastest ways to evacuate people from the streets should any possible violence escalate.

"Have a good evening Mr. Wayne."

"Why, thank you."

The doors were swung open, and Bruce Wayne found himself in the world of wealth and social class once more.

* * *

X **X** X **X**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Skyline Club**

 **7:11 PM**

"Let's get this party started!"

Music killed the silence. The sound of wild cheers and hoots shot into the air, and accompanying hands followed. The intensity of the sounds went wilder. Different beats, voiceless, purely electronically created songs became the symphony of the evening. Men on the dance floor moved, some with glasses of wine in hand, others, with their hands free so as to perform the dances they needed. The women were in no small quantity either. Miniskirts and heels were the order of the day, their hips gyrating often in response to the men behind them, crotches extended forward, ready to embrace the friction of a female against their fronts.

The men and women were of different ages. Mostly, they started at twenty-one, and ended at twenty-nine. Others who older, would be seen, occasionally, shuffling their feet, swaying awkwardly from left to right, with an advert-patented smile on their faces. Some were at the bar, drink in hand, back's slouched, and shoulders hunched, a scowl on their lips standing in contradistinction to their droopy eyes and relaxed brows.

Those, who were younger, could be seen, puffing their chests up exaggeratedly, reducing their decibels significantly, and straying in between large groups of people, with a bright, exhilarated grin on their faces, an extra bounce in their walks. They strayed as far away as they could from the exits and entrances, where large men in black suits and thick shades could be seen, standing, a slightly noticeable bulge at the side of their pants which their hands almost always patted securely.

The club was elevated. The upper layers were filled with the same black-suited men who patrolled relentlessly, the mid lower containing the man with the eccentric hairstyle, large notice-me headphones, and rounded teal colored sunglasses, allowed his hand to amble through a complicated sound system with a myriad of buttons. The lower layer, finally, held the dance floor with sweaty excitement and thinly veiled erections, a small cutaway section to the restrooms, a large verandah with a view of the open night sky, a bar with bartenders whose faces were plastered with disinterest, and the entrance and exits – which were a flight of stairs and a single elevator.

The elevator dinged open.

From within it, a quartet of girls, blonde, brunette, dark-haired and red-haired, emerged.

"Oh em gee! I'm _so_ excited! This place is the _buh_ - _omb!_ " The blond said.

"Calm down Chelsea – we just got here." The brunette said, her lips twitching in amusement.

"I'm off to get a drink – I need to be _not_ sober to endure this night." The dark-haired girl said, her tone slightly dull.

"Ugh! Cheer up Emma! We're _seniors_ , and we'll soon out of _College_ – and we soooo have not partied enough in my opinion."

"Shush!" the brunette hissed "Do you want _everyone_ to know we're not supposed to be here? This club is for people _twenty-one_ and up!"

"What-ev-ah Claire, we're all twenty and it's not like a year difference is that big a deal. Lighten up and par-tee! I mean, don't be like Babs over there –"

The three girls turned to their fourth companion, the red-haired one. With delicate features, emerald-green eyes, wearing a dark sweater and a pair of milk-white jean pants, she stared off seemingly into the distance.

"Hello! Earth to Barbara – do you copy?"

The girl in question immediately snapped her head over. "Huh? I – Um, yes I'm here. I'm just… you know… taking in the scene."

"That's one way of putting it," Emma, the dark-haired one, said dryly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were looking for the fastest ways to get out of this place." Emma paused, her eyes rolling at a boy and a girl, practically dry-humping each other in front of them. "Not that I'd blame you."

"What – you're not getting cold feet now are you Babs?" Chelsea, the blond, said, a slow smirk growing on her face. "Or what, is the high-and-mighty daughter of Gotham's Police Commissioner _too good_ to go out clubbing with friends? Hmm?"

"Chelsea –" Claire, the brunette, began.

"Ugh." Chelsea scowled. "I knew it was too good to be true when little-miss-honor-student, Scholarship-earned straight-A's Barbara Gordon decided to go clubbing. For all we know, you probably came here to get material to write some long, boring, feminazi article on the objectification of women in clubs, and then publish it to the Gotham Gazette."

"That's not true –" Barbara said, her left hand cradling her right arm awkwardly. "I came here to have fun – with you guys. You know… fun."

Chelsea let her eyes trail up and down the girl's form. "Fun. Suuuure. We'll see about that."

"I'll be at the bar getting a drink," Emma said, her voice neutral and uninterested. "Hopefully they'll be enough idiots trying to get me drunk and I'll never have to spend a dime on a single glass."

The reaction of the three girls' was a blend of exasperation and amusement.

"Uh – I think I'll follow you Emma," Barbara said, "I could go for a glass… you know, to get into the 'zone'... and have fun."

The girls turned to stare at her, and Emma slowly palmed her face.

"Again, I need to be _not_ sober to endure this night."

* * *

 **XXXXX**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Gotham City Center**

 **7:32**

Chandeliers, hung high unto the ceilings, with brilliant lights that served more as a decoration than a source of illumination. An extensively large open space, with paintings hung on walls, and with tables containing valuable pottery and artistic sculptures, with their price tags all attached, the numbers nothing lower than six digits. The upper layers, containing even more art, and led by a long, elegant staircase that was present on both the eastern and western corners of the large room. There were serving tables present, with young men and women in the familiar white waiters outfit, pouring drinks from wine to whiskey, serving cocktails and carrying trays filled to the brim with shrimp, hashbrowns, or other delectable snacks.

To the southeast of the hall, a hallway which led to the male and female restrooms. To the southwest, was another hallway which led to a different side of the City Center. Bruce's eyes were focused on that corner, as unexpected guests may arrive from that entrance, regardless of the two police guards who he spotted there.

The entire layout was memorized, and aspects he couldn't see within his range of vision, such as the contents of the upper floors, were visualized as best he could, especially remembering the number of entrances and exits which were four. Two doors, one window, one skylight.

Throughout the few minutes since his arrival, he had spent his time, chatting up the guests, showing them paintings and sculptures, and explaining the history behind them. Though, he had people, organizers of the event, who were to do that job, he took it upon himself to join them.

"Ah! There he is! The host himself! Brucie! How're you doing?"

Blonde hair and a familiar beard, dressed in an equally flashy dark gray suit, and accompanied with another woman, who equally possessed blonde hair in a black gown.

"Oliver," Bruce said, an amicable smile on his face. "Nice to know you could make it."

"Of course! As if I'd miss out on the chance to purchase some of the Wayne family's legendary artwork." He said with a smile, and a wink, "Though, Holt couldn't make it. Apparently, something came up that he needed to work on… a er, _calculation_ error in one of his programs."

Bruce frowned. Mr. Terrific wasn't present. Had the Calculator chosen tonight to attack on a random whim, or was this part of an even larger plan that he still wasn't aware of?

"Oh, and of course I believe you've been acquainted with the lovely Miss Lance."

He turned his attention back to Black Canary, and, still playing his part, he took one of her hands and kissed the back of it graciously.

"Charmed."

If there was any surprise on her face, she hid it expertly. "And likewise I. Had I known _Bruce Wayne_ was this amenable, I would have met his acquaintance long ago."

Bruce noticed the slight at his alter-ego, but chose to merely smile at it. Bruce Wayne and Batman had entirely different mannerisms, enough that it would be hard to believe that the warm and charitable Bruce Wayne was the same cold and stand-offish Batman. This of course, was _intentional_.

"Oh, isn't _one_ rich, handsome billionaire enough for you Dinah?" Oliver said, mirth filled in his eyes.

"I don't know," she responded, equally filled with mirth " _Is_ he?"

Oliver clutched at his chest in mock hurt. "You wound me. There it goes – my frail ego – shattered by your cruel words."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that," she said, smiling "You're a billionaire. I'm sure you have it insured."

Bruce watched the byplay between the duo, smiling and nodding to whatever was said, and then collecting a glass of wine from one of the waiters, as his gaze strayed to those gathered in attendance. Commissioner Gordon was present, occupied with ensuring the security detail, and Bruce knew that he would most likely leave before the event was concluded. As would he, of course. Although the presence of two league members in the form of Green Arrow and Black Canary put his mind at rest slightly, there was the fact that a dangerous criminal who was out and about in society, with a 500 Million Dollar bounty on him.

Falcone wasn't made out of money, and the bounty was supposedly going to be doubled if the man was brought in alive. A Billion Dollars might have been loose change to someone like him, but to Falcone, that was essentially his _entire_ life savings. That was _everything_ he had and owned. If he was putting out that much money as a reward to kill this man, it was no longer merely about being a personal vendetta or a need for revenge.

 _He was genuinely terrified_.

A terror for his life, which, in Falcone's opinion, was worth more than a billion dollars. This person that was going around being called 'The Consultant', _genuinely_ frightened Falcone. Bruce supposed, of course, that he had every reason to.

No one the Batman had ever fought, would have gone to such extremes just to send a message. It wasn't just about what he had done to the girl, but the skill required to do it. All the sites in which he had uploaded the videos too, had been hacked. The videos _could not_ be removed or taken down from the pornographic sites where they'd been posted. Essentially, any attempt to remove it would only _duplicate_ the video. That spoke of a mastery of hacking and technology, skills that could not be attained by just anyone, and further cemented it in Bruce's mind that the man was not just anyone who could be trifled with.

"What? You're joking – how can dirty blonde hair beat golden blonde? Go on, tell her Bruce – its _golden blonde_ – it's the best hair color – it even has the word _gold_ in it!"

Whatever remark he wanted to make, was prematurely ended when the doors swung open once more.

There was a distinct, sharp silence which had immediately taken over everyone in the room, as all attention was turned towards the tall figure who was the latest arrival.

Golden blonde hair, emerald green eyes, and a gait that _had_ to be supernatural, Gotham's second billionaire appeared.

His suit was a smooth silvery-black, with a sheen that made it appear as though it was sculpted from obsidian. His gait was textbook _perfect_ , his posture was straight and immaculate, and he held a long cane in his left hand which accompanied his outfit and his tall, clearly built figure. The full beard on his face did not detract from his appearance in the slightest, and rather, it gave him an aura of mystery and 'roughness' that would be unexpected to find in a billionaire.

"And it's official – I am the least attractive blond billionaire in the building."

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

 **Skyline Club**

 **7:41 PM**

"Batgirl to Batcave. Alfred, I'm in."

There was the sound of small static on the portable receiver which she had in her ear, as she made her way towards the female restrooms of the Skyline Club.

" _Ah, Miss Gordon, quite fortunate you arrived as you did. I just returned from delivering Master Bruce to the soiree at the Gotham City Center._ " Then, there was a sigh. _"Albeit, a part of me apologizes for the inconvenience, to hinder your 'ladies night out' as it were._ "

"Don't worry about it Alfred," she said, pushing her way past a group of dancers. "I'll do anything to help Bruce when I can. And, to be honest, a club isn't really my kind of scene anyway."

" _Very well,_ " the voice said, although with a hint of reluctance. _"So, what exactly is the scene at the Skyline Club?_ "

Barbara paused, her eyes going round the entire room.

"There's… something off. I count at least six times the normal amount of guards – and they're heavily armed too. First, it was the airspace around the building being covered with snipers and helicopters, and now extra men and fully equipped ammunition?"

" _It seems my hunch was right. Alberto Falcone_ is _spooked_."

She nodded, although fully aware of the fact that Alfred couldn't see her. "I'll try and see what I can find out from the guards."

Years of stealth training and increased nimbleness on her feet aided her as she made her way towards the flight of stairs that would lead to the higher layers. As she expected, it was guarded by two men. She pressed herself along the wall, leaning in as close as she could.

"Squad 6, this is Squad 2 checking in. All silent here on our end. Over."

" _Keep at it Squad 2. Alberto's orders are not to let anyone up – and if you see anyone with blond hair, shoot first, ask questions later. Over_."

Barbara's left eye rose.

"Blonde hair?" The second guard asked.

"The Consultant. He's got blonde hair – best not to take any chances."

"Huh," the second guard said.

"What?"

"Just thinking about the orders we got."

"What about them?"

"I mean, after everything the Consultant did to Alberto's cousin and aunt – I'd figure Boss Carmine would want to carve the fucker piece by piece rather than just letting us pop him _if_ he shows up. And that's a big _if_. What are the odds that he's gonna come after Carmine's son? No one would want to see Alberto get fucked by a horse."

"We're not getting paid to ask questions."

"I know, I know – It's just – if someone kidnapped _my_ cousin or niece, tied 'em up naked to a pole in and then let a jacked up _horse_ plough into her – I wouldn't want to kill that fucker with a bullet – is all I'm saying."

"Ugh."

"You think we get the bounty if we pop him?"

"I don't know."

"Huh." He said. "Well, I jacked off to the porno by the way – Lucia is a fucking babe and that shit has gone totally viral. A shame she couldn't take it past the sixth time – fuck, I wonder how she felt before she died, considering that cock was large as –"

"You let Alberto hear you, and you'll get to meet Lucia in person and ask her."

Barbara didn't bother listening anymore, her stomach churning irritably as she resisted the urge to vomit, and instead settled for scrunching up her nose. A wave of nausea hit her even harder, which she forced down for the sake of professionalism. She made her way back towards the ladies room, her thoughts rapidly incoming.

"Alfred –"

" _Ah, yes, I am aware of the… material. I may or may not have omitted that aspect from my report."_

Barbara stopped. "What?"

" _We have never quite dealt with a crime as… uncouth as this, and I was not certain how you would respond to the news – so… I omitted certain aspects. My apologies._ "

Barbara remained silent. In her time spent under the cowl, she and Batman had faced a lot of villains. Numerous terrifying ones from the Joker to dangerous, calculating ones like Deathstroke, to even the semi-insane ones like Black Mask. Still, as far as she could tell, she had never actually fought anybody who utilized sexual assault as a weapon.

The Joker, for all his insanity and killing and gassing of hundreds of people, did not have sexual assault on the long list of charges that could be placed against him. He saw no need to utilize it as a tool in his arsenal, and that was one of the small mercies that the people of Gotham had. Likewise numerous villains in Batman's rouges gallery – from Bane, to the Riddler, to Scarecrow, to Deadshot – none of them had ever done something so brazen.

She frowned.

Still, all of these people were killers, the Joker included. Murderers who had a body count that could be used as a miniature hill. Was sexual assault a more serious offense than murder? The victims in question would be greatly damaged psychologically by the event, but wouldn't it be better, as they were still _alive_ , and could therefore heal from the experience? In that case, wasn't murder more serious an offense than sexual assault?

She shook her head. In this case, the woman had been _both_ , sexually assaulted _and_ killed by the ordeal. She was a criminal of course, but this was not _justice_. It was cruel torture – she had been tortured and defiled before being executed – and it seemed, it was all to send a message.

 _A message to a villain._ Her mind idly chastised her.

She ignored the chastisement. Whether or not Falcone was a villain was irrelevant, he was still a _person_ first and foremost. He was a _human being_. His niece had been a _person_. And she did not deserve that sort of treatment. A proper trial and sentencing for their crimes was what was needed for her; a chance at redemption.

She took in a deep sigh and frowned.

"The Consultant." She tested the word on her lips, her frown deepening as she did so.

A new player in the Game. A new foe that they had not known about before; one, who seemed to be targeting Crime families. Most alarming, however, was the fact that this new foe seemed to always strike at the most opportune moments, to strike when Batman was out of the city or otherwise unavailable, which showed a capacity for incredible foresight, or rapid and efficient organization and management skills.

It was particularly for this reason that Alfred had rapidly chosen Barbara to interject into the Consultant's schemes, based on a hypothesis. 'Batman' would be unavailable tonight, as, Bruce Wayne would be attending the fundraising event for the GCPD, and, consequently, Bruce Wayne was under heavy fire and the watchful eye of the media and all of Gotham. This meant, of course, that Bruce couldn't sneak out of the event to don the cape and cowl without further bringing more suspicion and heat to his name.

There was of course, the scary part of this hypothesis, which Barbara had quickly realized.

 _If the Consultant makes any move whatsoever tonight, when he should have no reason to believe that Batman is unavailable –_

It would mean that The Consultant _knew_ that Batman was Bruce Wayne.

It would mean, that there was someone out there, who had pieced together Batman's identity, and now, could use it like a loaded gun against them whenever he so wished. The very thought of it made Barbara's hair stand and sent a plague of goosebumps travelling down her spine.

She had no idea how to counter that sort of attack. Bruce probably did, possessing a thousand and one contingency plans, and a thousand and one contingency plans for _each_ thousand and one contingency plan. However, Barbara, with her own genius intellect and photographic memory, had quickly surmised and come to the realization, that no matter what the contingency plan was, things would not and could never be the same.

Everything hinged on her and Alfred's paranoia – if, _if_ , there was a major move made tonight by the Consultant, it would be the spark of completely uncharted waters.

Hence, she found herself at the Skyline Club – the club ran by Alberto Falcone, Carmine Falcone's son, effectively playing the unwitting bodyguard for a Mafioso. The Consultant had already claimed that he was going after Falcone, and there was no doubt, that his next targets would be members of Falcone's nuclear family.

As she headed back towards the restroom, she quickly set her mind to work on as many possible scenarios as she could imagine. Motives. Goals. Reasons. Personality. Flaws. Intents. What was the Consultant's endgame? What was his true desire? Did he fancy himself a form of misguided vigilante attacking evil? Was he _inspired_ by Batman? Did he _despise_ Batman?

She had no information at all to work on, and that _grated_ her nerves.

"Alfred – can you find _anything_ on the Consultant? Anything at all?"

" _I'll search the databases for anything of value that comes up, hopefully, something will_."

She sighed as Alfred disconnected, leaving her standing in relative silence outside the female bathroom.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh my fucking god!"

Or, rather, not so relative silence. She ignored the slight warmth at her cheeks at the sheer gall of these people, especially as she could hear the sounds coming from _inside_ the female toilet, and –

She blinked. Her brain processing immediately cataloguing the voice, despite its slightly higher tone, that was a voice she knew. With no hesitation whatsoever, she swung open the door.

"C-Chelsea?!"

Her blonde friend had her back against the wall, one leg propped up against a sink, and the other one was spread out over a tall shoulder, with her pink underwear at the ankle. Her arrival signified a sort of silence, as the figure who was in front of her stopped, snapped his head in her direction, in something akin to shock or surprise. Likewise, Chelsea's turned towards her. And Barbara made the mistake of her gaze going lower, to the sight of –

"Oh my fucking god Barbara – can't you see I'm in the middle of something here?!"

Barbara's mouth opened slightly. "I – you –" Words, things which she was often so proficient at, failed her, at the sight of her friend, and at the sight of _what_ was _inside_ her friend.

"Ugh! Are you just going to keep staring? I didn't take you for a fucking voyeur!"

"I'm not – this is the ladies bathroom – and he – you –"

"Just get the fuck out already!"

She didn't know what compelled her to turn around and rapidly slam the door shut. She could still feel the warmth growing around her neck and face, and could hear her heart pounding as her palms grew sweatier. She slowly pushed her palms over her face in a weak attempt to abate her mortification.

"Curse you brain – curse you."

Unfortunately, her photographic memory meant that she would never forget this moment, _ever_. It would always be there, with picture-sharp clarity, the instance she walked in on her friend having sex with some random guy, the sight of her friend's legs hung up, the scent of arousal, and the thick, long… _thing_ that had been –

She groaned, burying her face deeper into her hands.

That _thing_ was most definitely going to plague her dreams – and perhaps, some of her _nightmares_ from now on.

 _Great job Gordon! You can rush into battle against some of the world's deadliest criminals without flinching, but the sight of one of your college friends having sex makes you freeze speechless._

She nearly jumped when the door opened behind her, watching as her friend stepped out, with slightly disheveled clothing. Chelsea didn't say anything towards her, and merely walked away, albeit, with an extremely noticeable and pronounced limp in her step that hadn't quite been there before.

Her hand stretched out towards the blond girl, but, slowly, receded back towards her bosom.

"It's moments like these that I wish I could capture and frame, as the perfect pictorial example of the phrase – 'well, that was awkward.'"

She turned her gaze towards the young man who had emerged from the _ladies'_ restroom, easily having a need to tell him off, only to pause slightly at his features. He was tall, easily a whole head taller than her, and he seemed to have a lean body that was filled with dexterous muscle. She could easily attribute him as someone who was either a swimmer or an athlete, and not particularly a gym junkee. He wore a plain T-Shirt with the Japanese Kanji for 'fire' written boldly in the middle, and the bottom and sleeves of the shirt were covered in red, flame-like designs. Perhaps, most strikingly about this person, was his face – smooth, flawless, sharp nose, angle-jawed, and nigh-perfectly symmetrical. If someone told her that the young man was a model, she would accept it at face value.

What did catch her attention about him however, was the sea-blue, sapphire-shining eyes he had, which was slightly obscured by thick front locks of platinum-blond hair. He couldn't have been a year or two older than her.

"But to think, that my _luck_ would make it so that I would run into _you_ here."

All at once, her danger instincts _flared_.

Yet, for all it was, they were far _too slow_.

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

 **Gotham City Center**

 **7:45 PM**

Ignoring Oliver's comment, Bruce found himself mentally agreeing with the sentiment. Oliver was far less handsome, and _handsome_ was not a word which he used likely, but there was no denying the man's presence and attractiveness. A face which could easily win first prize in modelling contests, and could gain him international recognition as an actor, should he star in a single role.

There was something… _wrong_ about the man though, which Bruce couldn't place. It was there, a nagging sensation – something in his instincts that just felt… violated –

The man was perfect, so he didn't see why –

It hit him.

The man was perfect.

 _Too perfect_.

 _Absolutely flawless_.

It was… _should_ be impossible for anyone to have an absolutely flawless physical appearance. Oliver had some such as the slight grooves on his nose and his unruly beard. And Bruce would claim that his ever-coiled hair was one of his slight flaws. Yet, this man – he had _none_ which Bruce could find or detect.

It was _humanly impossible_.

"So _that_ … is Makarov Dreyer?" Dinah said, and Bruce noted her diluted pupils "I can see why people would choose to believe him over you, Bruce."

He said nothing, and instead, he turned to Oliver. "I'm going to greet our guest. And you –"

"Will be 'getting lost' around the theater. I got it."

There was a lot, which Bruce was expecting, from this man. He was a new player, who had sprung up from Gotham, and done a _lot_ of good for the city, which was perhaps one of the reasons that he would be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Yet, he was aware that this was the same man who had publicly stated his dislike for him, apparently, on the basis that he _hadn't done enough for the city_.

Bruce would agree.

He _truly_ had not done enough for Gotham. He needed to do _more_.

"Green."

He had barely walked up to the taller man and extended his hand when he heard that word, causing him to falter for a brief second.

"Excuse me?"

"That is my first impression of you Mr Wayne. _Green_."

Bruce could easily say that no one had told him that before.

"Willpower." Dreyer said, explaining. "There is so much of it that it is nearly blinding. Yet, this is somewhat paradoxical. If you were this driven and determined, Wayne Industries would have evolved to completely eradicate crime in Gotham. Yet, it hasn't. Where, then, is all this willpower being channeled?"

Two things rushed through Bruce's mind. The first, was that Dreyer was clearly a person that did not mince his wards and saw no need for small talk, and the second, was the connection of the word _green_ and the word _willpower_.

"The Emotional Spectrum?"

"Of course." Dreyer said, his sparkling emerald eyes alight with derision. "It is foolish, stupid, and highly presumptuous of people to not wish to understand such universal forces. Our willpower, rage, love, hope, and avarice are being channeled, used as _fuel_ to power aliens millions of lightyears away. Yet, no one questions this – no one bothers to."

A thick, heavy scoff.

"Stupidity, as always, is the greatest flaw of human evolution."

Bruce Wayne, for once, was genuinely short on words.

"And you – you question this?"

Dreyer turned his eyes, looking at him from the corner of it. "Only a fool _wouldn't_. An unexamined life is not worth living. There are forces in the world greater than anything imaginable, from the Emotional Spectrum to the existence of the Speed Force – a force that enables people to molest and toy with the laws of physics like a young teenager and his reluctant lover. Yet, again, no one questions this."

Bruce found himself surprised, _again_. An emotion on which he mentally chided himself for, yet, he could not help it. The man in front of him was very _well-learned_ , because, even though the existence of the Speed Force and the Lantern Corps were public knowledge, most people just stopped at it there. They often didn't bother about its existence or formulate hypothesis about its applications. Those who did, were often scientists, and never, _never_ , a supposedly young, self-made billionaire.

"I see." Bruce said, shortly. "That aside, I would like to formally welcome you to the fundraiser. I did not anticipate you coming."

"And I am certain that had I informed the media of my arrival, you would have anticipated me even less." Makarov waved his hand dismissively, before walking forward, leaving Bruce no choice but to follow after him.

"I must say, that so far, I am disappointed. Meeting you in person is somewhat more lackluster than I imagined."

"I'm… sorry?"

"Your apology is unwanted Mr. Wayne, as is your presence. I did not come here for you."

Bruce stopped, frowning. "Then why are you –"

"You! Waiter with the handkerchief!"

Everyone's attention was turned to the waiter addressed, the young man freezing in place at Dreyer's call.

Dreyer marched towards him, amidst whispers and hushed voices. Then, his hands went up, seemingly to the man's neck. Bruce's eyes widened at the perceived threat and he rushed to intervene –

"There. Your bowtie was knotted inappropriately, and strained at a 32 degree angle that was upsetting to my eyes. You may carry on with your business."

"T-t-thank y-you sir."

The whispers, if anything, seemed to escalate, as the waiter scurried off.

Bruce rose an eyebrow at the scene, taking out a small sigh, and chastising himself for assuming that Dreyer was going to choke the waiter.

"You're a perfectionist?" It was more of a statement than a question, to which Dreyer turned around and gave him a slightly irritated glare.

"You are still within my line of sight Mr. Wayne. Did I not make it clear that your presence was unwanted?"

Bruce gave an amused chuckle. "This _is_ my fundraiser, Mr. Dreyer. I am afraid that I cannot leave."

"So, you are saying that if this fundraiser were over, you would then leave?"

Bruce blinked, and he realized, that their conversation had been in tones which people around them could hear.

"Well not exactly –"

"May I have the attention of everyone present?"

The loud declaration by the tall man immediately drew numerous eyes and followed with the heavy silence.

"I, Makarov Dreyer, would like, to buy –"

His finger pointed, and then spun round the entire room.

"Everything."

There was pin-drop silence.

Bruce became immediately aware of the fact that all eyes were on him – waiting for his response.

"You cannot –"

"Can I not?" Makarov interrupted sharply, "This is a fundraiser for the GCPD, is it not? Does that not mean, that the amount gained from every object sold here today is for the betterment of our city?"

"Well, yes, but –"

"Does anyone other than Mr. Wayne have an objection to my purchase?" A few select hands went up, "Do you believe yourself capable of outbidding me should the items decide to be auctioned?" The hands sharply went down.

Legend Industries had a net worth that was equal to Wayne Industries, minus a few million. After Bruce Wayne, Makarov Dreyer was the richest man in Gotham City – outbidding him was an impossibility.

"The total sum of everything here – is about two hundred million dollars." This came from the event organizer, who finally remembered her ability to speak.

Makarov merely hummed, reached into the pocket of his suit, brought out a check book, tore out a page, and handed it over to the woman without a second thought.

"There." he said, before turning to Bruce Wayne. "This is no longer your fundraiser Mr. Wayne. So, I repeat myself for the third, and last time. _Your presence is not wanted._ "

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

 **Skyline Club**

 **7:32**

 _This was bad_.

There was no other way to explain it, to explain how utterly _horrible_ the situation was. She was right. _Alfred_ had been right. _He_ knew. The Consultant not only knew Batman's identity, he knew _hers._

 _Somehow_.

And the worst part?

 _He was toying with her_.

She stood, in a defensive position, breathing heavily, while the man stood across from her, a smile on his face, utterly and completely nonchalant. She remembered his _speed_ , the speed of his first, and so far, only strike which he had thrown in the battle. His hands had been a blur, and if he had wanted to, he could have snapped her neck in an instant. Rather, all he had done, was grab and squeeze her breasts.

Like the sick, degenerate pervert he was.

"You know, insulting me in your head isn't going to help you win this fight," he said dryly.

She snapped her head up at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"No, blossom, I'm not reading your mind and I don't have to. It's written all over your face."

He let out a bored sigh. "You know, my attention is _literally_ divided right now – because I'm talking to you, and to someone else, in two completely different contexts and settings, and _somehow_ despite this, I'm handing your ass to you."

"You haven't landed a single hit on me!"

"And I don't have to," he said "You'll tire yourself out _trying_ to land a hit on me, and it'll be easy for me to just pin you down and do whatever I want."

A cold shiver ran down her spine at the implications. "You're _sick_."

"And you're a vigilante who wears tight spandex, and have been wanked off to by millions of virgin fanboys. But hey – we all have our demons."

She didn't understand him. His motives. Motivations. He was just… _standing_ there. Yet, she couldn't explain why, why her entire body and instincts _screamed_ and told her that it would be a very, very bad idea to attack him.

"Do you know, I actually thought that I'd be up to my neck in bounty hunters by now," he said in a conversational tone. "I mean, I have a 500 Million dollar bounty. Where's the respect? Where are the bad guys and assassins coming to cut off my head? And then, I realized, they're _literally_ stuck in traffic."

Was – was he _serious?_

"I mean, in hindsight, it should be obvious that it'd take a day or so for them to get to Gotham, and some extra time to prepare to start hunting me down, but I thought, at the least, I'd have faced _some_ assassins by now." He actually _sighed_ in _disappointment_. "Since no one showed up, because no one can _actually find me_ , I figured I'd just speed things up and give Falcone some more incentive by killing his son Alberto. I didn't think I'd run into _you_ though."

She immediately entered a defensive position. "I'm not going to allow you kill anyone tonight."

He rose an eyebrow. "You do realize that you are in the _worst_ possible position to make demands right? _Miss Gordon?_ "

She froze, once more, the realization that she was not in her Batgirl attire hitting her like a bucket of ice water.

"The only thing standing between you, and the end of your life – is me. All I need to do is expose your identity – and Barbara Gordon's life is over. Your friends, family, anyone you've ever known or had a casual acquaintance with – they become targets to get to you, and to get to Batman. And that's it – you can't have a normal life. You can't go back to college. Can't graduate. Not without starting from scratch with a new identity."

There it was, the truth she'd been avoiding. The horrific end of everything, the possible danger all her friends and loved ones would be in – slapped straight into her face.

" _But_ ," he said, "All of that can be avoided – if you merely stand aside, pretend you never saw me, and let me kill Alberto Falcone."

The offer, delivered as it was, stunned her into silence.

"W-What?"

The Consultant, sighed. "I'm focusing on the villains of Gotham. My goal is to eliminate them. One by one. Falcone is first for personal reasons, oh, and any bounty hunter stupid enough to get in my way as well. If you let me be on my merryway, I'll forget I ever saw you, and you can go on living your life without having to start it over from scratch."

She was right. The Consultant _did_ believe himself to be a form of vigilante. He was _actively_ hunting down villains and wrongdoers, and dispensing what he believed to be his own form of justice – serving as the executioner.

Still, what he was doing, was _murder_.

Then, there was the sexual assault.

Was he going to make all the female villains endure some kind of sexual torture as well in the name of justice?

"I can't do that." She responded, shaking her head. "I'm not going to allow you kill one more person."

"Even at the cost of your life? The life of your loved ones? You would protect criminals?"

She remained silent, and watched as the man merely shook his head.

"Jesus. Reading about it is one thing – seeing it in person as something else. I don't know if I should applaud your unbending sense of morality, or laugh at your complete idiocy and lack of self-preservation."

He clapped his hands together, as though he had arrived at an epiphany.

"Ah! I know, I'll do both!"

Barbara could only stare in irritation at the laughing, clapping man for so long before she lunged at him, fists blurring.

He stepped back, into the ladies restroom, evading the flurry of the first two punches by a brief margin. Barbara didn't slow down her assault, following it with a left straight, which the man once more evaded with a swift side-step to the right. She growled as she decided to aim for the man's center of mass – his middle, and she brought out her right leg in thrust kick, only for the man to once more contort his way out of the attack by leaning his body far back so that his head touched the floor.

She followed the motion, bringing her right leg from the thrust kick to an axe kick aimed for his groin. And _again_ , the man twisted out of the way, moving to the right. She trailed after she him with a butterfly kick, forcing the man to cartwheel into one of the toilet stalls to evade – a position which she did not hesitate to capitalize on.

A rush, and a left knee strike aimed for his chest, which, in the confined space of a toilet stall, was unavoidable.

Or at least, _should_ have been unavoidable.

In a motion that was too fast to have _possibly_ been human, he performed a split, using the walls of the toilet stall as anchors for his legs, and leaving her strike going wide and her left foot entering into the toilet bowl.

"Tut. Tut. You're underneath a man in club toilet. What would your dearest father say?"

She let out an annoyed growl, as her fist went in an uppercut towards the pervert's nether regions.

And it was promptly stopped by an open palm. The first time he had bothered to actually _block_ an attack rather than evade it.

"Aiming for my balls? I didn't take you for the type to fight dirty. But… if you want to play it _that way_ –"

 _Strong._

Barbara had known that he was faster and more agile than her, by the manner in which he dodged her attacks with relative ease. She hadn't, however, taken into account how much _stronger_ he was then her. The feeling of a hand _grabbing_ a large part of her hair and slamming her head down to the toilet bowl cemented it more than anything else.

With _just_ one hand, she found herself forced to breathe the water in the toilet bowl, as she struggled with the best of her ability to free herself from his grasp on her hair. With that same hand, he pushed her face further into the bowl until she could almost kiss the bottom of it, whilst struggling to hold her breath and flailing to escape his grasp.

 _With one hand_ , he was nearly drowning her, in a _toilet bowl_.

She realized just how badly she had underestimated her opponent, both in intellect and in combat ability, as she flailed her arms and her legs, and _whatever_ she could to try and stop him from drowning her – kicking at random, and trying to use her arms to push herself off – to no use. It felt as though there were a hundred men pushing down on her head rather than just a single man.

He was saying something, but amidst her struggles and the water rapidly filling her ears and nose, she couldn't hear it. She couldn't make it out. That was when, she felt it, his second hand, slowly touching her backside.

Her frantic struggles increased madly and more desperate than ever before, bubbles raising from the water as the sound of gurgling screams rose. A genuine fear seeped into her chest like a deathly cold. The slow, caressing touch of his hand on her backside sent terror into her chest that she couldn't mask. Her struggles were in vain, as she simply did not have the necessary amount of strength, and all her desperation merely made the water enter her lungs faster.

It was at that moment, when she could no longer inhale, when no more breaths would enter her lungs, and the world was beginning to grow dark –

Her head was lifted from the water.

She coughed, gasping for air, and immediately threw up large amounts of water onto the bathroom floor. She took in deep, wheezing breaths as more and more water streamed out of her nose and mouth, the whites of her eyes turned almost as red as her hair.

"So. Do you regret not walking away?"

He was there, she noticed. He was _still_ there. Nothing had stopped him – he had _chosen_ to stop. And here he was, on one knee and looking at her like a child who had erred.

"You see – I could have chosen to kill you. Or, worse, I could have chosen to stick my dick in you and go wild. But, all I did, was this –"

There, in his palm, was a familiar pair of white panties.

"I stole your panties."

There was mixture of confusion, of fear, of uncertainty, of embarrassment and slight disbelief, all of which encompassed her.

"Remember this day, Barbara Gordon." He said, face entirely serious "Remember the day, that Zed Rander stole your panties."

He promptly rolled it into a ball, and put it in his pocket.

"Remember, the day I stole your panties."

He repeated, with complete seriousness.

"Next time – I will not steal your panties. I will steal… something more."

 _This – THIS – was the man who had almost killed her? THIS?!_

Shame, indignation, and a burning sense of disbelief was rushing through her, even as she watched the man walk away – the strength to stop him no longer present.

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

 **Gotham City Square**

 **8:50 PM**

Tensions were high, and I maintained a blank face as I very calmly, told Bruce Wayne to leave. Honestly, I had expected more from the legendary Batman. Images and depictions of him by numerous virgin fanboys had painted the idea that Batman was a god-like figure who could not be beaten or outsmarted, when, in fact, he was merely a human just like everyone else.

As Bruce Wayne, he looked incredibly less intimidating, and quite frankly, was more or less a pansy. People never truly got the idea that Bruce Wayne and Batman were two different people, character-wise and achievement wise. It was almost like flipping a switch – one which would activate when the cloak was put on or off. Bruce Wayne was a pacifist, calm-headed and soft-spoken billionaire playboy. Batman was the gruff, no-nonsense, cold and hard skeptic. In a sense, it was a two-faced persona which could not be broken without disastrous consequences.

If Batman was to gain the traits of Bruce Wayne, or if Bruce Wayne were to gain the traits of Batman, it would be catastrophic.

A cold, angry and aggressive billionaire.

A relaxed, conflict-avoidant, playboy vigilante.

It could not happen.

Hence, as I properly surmised, Bruce Wayne attempted to go the 'friend-of-the-people' approach.

He let out a deep sigh, and shook his head. "I can see now that you seem to have a deep loathing for me, for whatever reason – I do not know. Is there no way I can convince you that all of this is unnecessary?"

The eyes were on me once more, and, I closed them.

This was Batman, no, this was Bruce Wayne. For one could exist where the other did not, and both of them could not exist at the same time. It was the one thing I had as an advantage over him – in that, I _could_ be in two places at the same time. It wasn't cloning, but rather, an extremely limited, cheap man's version of partial-omnipresence.

A.K.A. – Ripping off Pain's Six Paths technique.

Even as I spoke with Bruce Wayne right now, the tangible version of myself, created using **Alteration** , commanded and linked to all my senses, existed at the Skyline Tower, and was now in the process of slaughtering his way through Alberto Falcone's goons and finding the man himself.

It was like controlling two different Xbox controllers with your hands and feet, and then, playing Skyrim on one, and the Witcher on the other. Still, I balanced it out well enough, even as I felt the other 'me' run his hand through some poor mook's chest, I turned towards Bruce, and answered his question.

"You have had over twenty years to cure Gotham. Your family has had over two hundred. Yet, just this morning, I saw pickpocket-children and skinny-muggers."

My voice was loud and clear.

"Cure this city, Mr. Wayne. Cure it. And not only will I come to respect you for it, I will _worship_ you." I said, sharply. "Until then – your presence is a blight."

He looked like he wanted to speak, to say something, but he stopped sharp. What would he say? What _could_ he say? That it wasn't his job to fix the city? That he was trying his best?

No. His pride would not allow him to make any of those two utterances.

"I see."

With those words, I watched as Bruce Wayne turned around, and headed for the exit – humbled at his own fundraiser.

Another blow to his reputation, successfully earned.

Now, if those god-damned assassins could hurry up and get here –

My night would be complete.


	10. First Contact II

**Three Things.**

 **1\. There is a misconception that I adopted this story from someone. I did not. It is _my_ story. It was _inspired_ by DC - Gamer Life, in the same manner that you could watch a movie and feel _inspired_ to write a fan fic about it.**

 **2\. Waka Nibbolo, the brave man who flamed me with his own account, I would ask you to get thicker skin, because I responded to you, and your response was to block me like an infant unable to handle the harsh realities of the world. Here's a tip: either grow some balls and be able to take in what you dish out, or get the fuck off the internet.**

 **3\. Concerns that 'I won't be able to like or support Zack anymore if he rapes people! Don't make him do it!' Merely seeing these comments has cemented it in my mind that I _will_ make him do it, simply because I'm petty like that. No, really, there's a difference between suggestions and recommendations, and outright _telling_ me what to do. Chances are, I'll do the _exact opposite_ just to spite you.**

 **Not to mention, the warning tags have been here for a reason.**

 **This is the final warning - anyone who reads and sees things they can't stand after passing this warning, and whines about it in the reviews will promptly be ignored.**

 **WARNING: Gore, Profanity, Incest/Pedophilia, Implied/Actual Instances of Rape, Torture, Cannibalism, Body Horror, Drug Use, Vore, and other depravities that will make your mother wail and wonder where she went wrong with you. You are reading at your own discretion.**

* * *

 **DC - Remastered Edition**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

There were a set of rules that his master followed.

Zed Rander was an enigmatic, revolutionary sort of vigilante. A type who did not bother himself with conventional rules of morality, and dispensed evil-unto-evil. He was also free-spirited, sarcastic, a braggart and pervert who did things as he wished, and existed purely as the personification of the human Id. Yet, he followed rules, and amongst those rules, included a law that prevented him from personally sexually assaulting an innocent woman. The terms 'innocent' and 'personally' being the emphasis. It was for this reason, that although he would put the fear of God into Batgirl, he would go no further. This was his design.

Makarov Dreyer on the other hand, was business incarnate. A perfectionist, a master planner, filled with pride at his own accomplishments and with a burning sense of purpose and drive that could not be found on most others. His goals expanded into the long-term, genuine plans to alter the world in the manner as to how he saw it fit to be, to bring humanity to a pinnacle of evolution that would make it the most feared and respected race in the entire universe. Hence, he was offended, with someone like Bruce Wayne – a character who, with all his drive and purpose, was counter-intuitive to development. Gotham should not be a cesspit with a billionaire like Bruce Wayne in it. Correcting this flaw was the start of grander plans. This was his design.

Then, there was the _third_ persona. An assassin and hitman who had taken up a job as a torturer and defiler. Salem Spellman was the name he went by, although, in certain communities, he was known as Horror. The only name which could be attributed to someone like him. Still, to imbue massive shock, awe, fright and more was his purpose. This was his design.

There were three distinct designs. Three distinct personalities and features – and the only thing linking all three of them together, was Isaac Zachariah Cabrera.

Was he all three personas?

Or was he none of the three personas?

With a Max Acting skill – whenever he adopted a persona, it was like method-acting on steroids, taken up to eleven. He believed, for all intents and purposes, that he _was_ a persona. Yet, the very second the persona was removed – he became an entirely different person. A skilled neuroscientist would have been baffled if they had taken the brain scans of Zack as he was Zack, and taken it as he was Zed, or Makarov, or Salem – and they would have been completely different, despite it being the same brain. Perhaps a psychologist would have documented it as a true case of Multiple Personality Disorder.

The real question, however, was the most complex.

Who was Zack Cabrera?

So far, it was impossible to find out. 'Zack' no longer made an appearance. His default character setting now was Zed Rander. One would argue that bits and pieces of the real Zack slipped through, but it wasn't the case. Zed Rander was not Zack Cabrera, yet, at the same time, he was.

Nezumi let out a dry hum as he idly polished a glass with his a handkerchief. The Demon Butler was curious, and he could not help it. He wanted to find out more about his master. He wanted to discover the _true_ Zack – and not to interact with the somewhat caricature-ish personas that his master wore.

Zack Cabrera was his God – and not Zed Rander, or Makarov Dreyer or Salem Spellman.

Zack Cabrera had been the one to create him, from a small, dead rodent, all those years ago – into what he was now, a fully sentient eldritch demonic creature. He would not, and could not forget that fact, and he was intrinsically programmed to be loyal to _Zack Cabrera_.

It was perhaps a loophole that his master had failed to realize, that he was only truly loyal to the _real_ him, and not his personas, regardless, Nezumi served his personas, because the real him was inside his personas. The real him, was what Nezumi wished to discover – to truly aid and come to understand.

Being a mindless sycophant would cause far more harm than good, and often times, you had to act in your master's best interest, even if said master did not realize that your actions were in his best interest.

Of course, his master was wary of trusting people, and alas, Nezumi had no choice but to perform the role of the sycophantic 'yes-man' butler, until it was time to reveal his true capabilities and reasoning to his master. Of course, if his master ever asked directly, he would tell him the truth – but until then, he had to perform his roles and duties.

So far as his master had given him a task, Nezumi believed that it was up to him to handle it in manners and ways that exceeded every and all possible expectations. To reach beyond what was expected, to surpass it and leave it so far behind in the dust that it would be considered a folly to have set such low standards.

His master had required a hideout before midnight.

There were many questions on his mind that Nezumi desired to know.

Why had his master only chosen now to create a suitable stronghold?

What had his master been doing in the past thirteen years to not have possessed a stronghold before now?

Did his master truly have a grand plan in motion, or was he perhaps making everything along as he went?

A lesser minion or slave would have considered it blasphemous to even as much as question the motives and intellect of his creator, but Nezumi was not a fool. His creator was a man just as anyone else, and as such, he was prone to errors and mistakes. The fact that his master failed to realize the loophole in making him only truly loyal to 'Zack Cabrera' was just one instance that proved that his master would need proper, adequate guidance and an efficient support to cover up any incidents that may occur due to lack of foresight.

In order to efficiently serve his master, he needed to understand his motives. He needed to acknowledge his master's strengths and weaknesses, and to find every flaw his master possessed so that he could cover them up before they were exploited. To claim that his master was perfect and flawless was to be an incompetent minion that would lead his master to an early grave.

Why was his master toying with the heroes and villains when he could effortlessly conquer them?

As it was, Nezumi _knew_ that he could conquer them with perhaps forty percent of his true strength, and his _master_ was immensely more versatile and powerful, so there was no doubt in Nezumi's mind that his master could have already conquered Gotham by midnight if he wished to.

Yet, he didn't.

The only plausible reason was because he wanted to extend and agonize their suffering and perhaps amuse himself in the process before he ended them.

 _Like a Comic Book Villain_.

Nezumi resisted the urge to sigh. His master could be surprisingly ironic in some ways. Rather than take the initiative, break into the homes of every hero while they were sleeping and unguarded, then either capture or kill them in that instant with the upper-hand and element of surprise, he was playing a rather elaborate game of cat and mouse with them instead. He was giving them a chance to actively _fight back_ – which could be a rather dangerous thing.

Possessing confidence in his master was a good thing, but at the same time, underestimating one's opponents was the worst thing one could do.

He shook his head as he kept the glass amongst others in the recently created wine room, and took a step back – teleporting out of the room, in order to examine his progress.

Underneath the bay and deep within the external waters of Gotham, deep below where discarded ships lay, and deeper even still, to the earth beneath, to the crust, and even _deeper still_ – a layer of solid titanium-enforced steel was kept in place.

A rough estimate told Nezumi that he had created the bunker approximately 50 kilometers into the earth's crust. For reference, he discovered that the deepest ever drilled by mankind was the Kola Superdeep Borehole – and it was a measly 12.3 kilometers into the earth. The fortress was easily four times _deeper_ than that, and he estimated that it was at least two or three times deeper than Earth's deepest chasm, the _Mariana Trench_.

It was essentially inaccessible to any normal human, by any normal means, and once you found yourself in the fortress – you were stuck there, even if you could fly or had super speed. There were no doors, entrances or exists, meaning that teleportation was the only way in or out of the fortress.

Regardless, to call it a bunker would be to refer to a nuclear warhead as a pencil eraser. At his or his master's whim or will, the fortress could be severed from the physical world, existing in a plane that was inaccessible to all others. It entailed a series of external defense mechanisms that would make it immune or downright impervious to the shifting of tectonic plates, and sported an array of defense systems, traps, and semi-atomic missiles which were present in the _possibility_ of dealing with metahumans who _somehow_ managed to burrow this deep.

Needless to say, the bunker was a Fallout/Zombie Apocalypse safe-haven that would leave most enthusiasts soaking wet or raging hard.

And those were just the fortresses' _external_ features.

Nezumi decided that he needed to give the underground fortress the insides of a mansion suitable for a king. There were twenty-three bedrooms, One Master Bedroom, fourteen bathrooms, one grand kitchen, one grand dining room and a lavish living room. The work rooms entailed One Master Control Room, which was essentially he Fortress's core control center, two torture chambers, a slave quarters, an armory, sport rooms, tennis courts, basketball courts, movie cinemas, a stocked warehouse, and a gladiatorial theater.

Electricity was provided by magical gemstone – and likewise was the breathable air, oxygen and temperature regulation in the fortress.

All in all, Nezumi could suitably look at his work and determine that it was good.

Of course, due to how deep into the earth it was, there were some minor inconveniences such as the failure of radio waves to reach the bunker, and similarly satellites and cable television, as well as any form of modern communication device or internet access were thrown out of the proverbial window.

The Demon Butler frowned. Had he perhaps gone a bit overboard with how deep it was? Possibly – but he supposed it would not be hard to find ways of circumventing those minor inconveniences.

The counter-benefit of seclusion also meant that it was nigh-impossible for him, or for the bunker to be found. His magical signature was immense, so much that he was certain that his mere presence alone would make lesser magic practitioners die from merely standing next to him. This way, his magical signature was masked, and most attempts to find him would only end up failing, because there was no magical spell he could think of that would be capable of scanning this deep into the earth.

Still, a fortress such as this required a name. Though, Nezumi did not for even a second presume that it was his place to name it, as that honor belonged to his master, when his master finally returned.

He _did_ wonder what his master was doing though – as he could sense, to an extent, his master's imprint on the world, his actions and decisions – although, he couldn't entirely make them all out.

Regardless, he had completed the initial task that his master had asked of him, and as such, he supposed it would only be right for him to find his master and inform him of his completed duties.

"I suppose the time to return to the surface has come." With a wave of his hand, and a miniscule burst of power, Nezumi vanished. " **Greater Teleport.** "

* * *

 **DC – Remastered Edition**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Zed Rander's Office**

Being a demonic, cannibalistic entity that had grown strong from consuming other lesser demons or other beings in general, Nezumi had a fine-tuned taste and appeal for humans. Particularly, it was the humans in Gotham City which drew his senses and his palates – he could literally feed on their emotions, sentiments and their _souls_ , and for one reason or another, the humans in Gotham always had the most aromatizing scents, courtesy of their tainted souls.

Hence, appearing in the office of his master's most carefree persona, Nezumi had to force down the instinctual salivation that came from perceiving the scent of the depraved souls in Gotham City. The strongest of which was currently at Arkham Asylum.

A glance to his wristwatch told the time – 11:50. Exactly ten minutes before he was required to meet his master and complete his task. Although, he frowned at the state of the ruined office – a clear indicator that his master had not been here, and instead, other people had raided the place in search for his possible whereabouts.

Nezumi's frown grew as he moved forward, the crackling of an object making him stop, and then he stared down to discover a shattered potted plant.

"Phillip... what have they done to you?"

Most likely this was the result of his master's claims to become the most wanted man in Gotham City by midnight. They had come to his master's office in search of him – they had failed to find him, and so, they had chosen to destroy the place – crushing his master's potted plant collection.

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

A cursory beeping drew his attention, which had Nezumi enchanting the remains of his master's only named plant, and peeping his attention over to the table, where, he could clearly spot a device with red numbers slowly counting backwards on it.

Nezumi shook his head and sighed, picking up the rudimentary explosive device, and tossing it into his mouth, which massively expanded and then returned to normal human size.

It was slightly grittier than he expected, and he let out a minor cough as the thing exploded, the flames and shockwave doing nothing more than expanding and reddening his cheeks a little, before he swallowed it all, and burped out a small puff of black smoke.

It wasn't a coincidence that the bomb had been triggered when he entered into the building, so, it was more or less likely that it was being remote controlled, or, there were sensors that told it when to activate. The latter seemed more likely, and Nezumi's eyes rapidly scanned over the room, before he found what he was looking for – a small, tiny device that was most probably a motion sensor, attached to the roof of the office.

He sighed softly. Why in the world was his master humoring these cattle?

"…. go off."

Acute hearing on a level that was literally supernatural enabled Nezumi to pick out certain distinct words of conversation.

"Maybe it was a dud?"

"What? No way – we prepped the explosives properly!"

"Fuck. Well, whatever – if it didn't go off – maybe he's still inside – we could probably catch this fucker alive and get the one billion."

A billion? There was a bounty of a billion on his master?

How…

 _Insulting_.

With a blur of motion that was pure speed than it was any need for teleportation, he found himself on the inside of another building, surrounded by a group of men all wearing masks of one sort or the other.

"What the fuck?!"

"A billion?" Nezumi said, with a chuckle "Apologies, I could not help myself when I heard that you were hunting down Za- Zed Rander, for a _billion_?"

The gathered men, fourteen of them, in such close premises, all wielding primitive guns, stared at him as though he were speaking French. There was fear present – but it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough –

"To even _think_ or _believe_ for a second, that you fools would dare _quantify_ him with such a paltry _sum_ –"

Nezumi sighed.

"It's unfortunate."

He reached out for the first man, his hands a blur as he grabbed the man's skull, and squished it with the flex of his fingers. Blood, grey matter and white matter splattered all over his hand and the room as the skull was squished like a rotten fruit and his brain leaked out of his ears and nose. He didn't even bother hesitating as he moved to the next man, yet, he didn't rush either.

As far as Nezumi was concerned, they were all moving as though time was in slow motion. So he took his time on the second man, first, extending his pinky and then using it to carve a rectangle of flesh on the man's chest. He opened it, dropping the bloody sack of meat unto the ground, ignoring the blood pouring down on his fingers as he dragged out the man's still beating heart and lungs, before severing it, opening the man's mouth, and slamming it down the man's throat.

Then, he moved to the third man, feeling merciful, he merely punched a hole through the man's chest and obliterated his heart. The action being done at a speed that made sure blood didn't come anywhere near his clothes.

There were eleven more of them, and Nezumi decided to see their initial reactions, so he slowed down his pace, his movement, and his rate of thinking to their laughable mortal levels.

From their perspective, he had not moved, and blood was immediately splattered all over the room, as three men suddenly dropped dead. There was the immediate sound of retching, as several people lost their lunches. Those who hadn't – utterly flipped.

"WHAT THE FUCK – WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK! FUCK! FUUUCK! FUUU –"

He lunged at the man that was freaking out, his left hand shattering through the mask and grabbing his tongue, before ripping it out.

"I do not appreciate your coarse language."

Now, he could feel it – genuine, pure, unadulterated fear – the fear for their existence – the fear for their lives, the realization that they were the excreta of insects that had gained consciousness and were in the presence of an insect killer.

"This emotion you feel – it is what you should feel by a _hundredfold_ when mentioning 'Zed Rander'"

Nezumi smiled.

"Now – would you kindly decide the order in which you are to die?"

* * *

 **DC – Remastered Edition**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Streets**

 **12:00 – Midnight**

 **8** **th** **of November**

Batman was stretched thin.

There was too much happening at once – far too much for him to handle alone. Ignoring the problems that 'Bruce Wayne' had faced a mere three hours earlier with the C.E.O of Legend Industries, he had more important issues to worry about. Thankfully, the Batmobile was nearby along with his other 'attire' so he did not need to return to the Batcave before he could immediately start patrolling the streets.

And patrol it needed. Badly.

The streets were filled with Roman Sionis' men harassing every single blond they could find, slightly capable thugs and assassins such as KGBeast and the Electrocutioner mowing their way down thugs who they felt were a nuisance and, other gangs and crime families that had decided to show up, sowing chaos and confusion in the name of finding the man with the billion dollar bounty.

Said man himself was somehow evading detection, despite sauntering into the Skyline Club and murdering Alberto Falcone – leaving the son of Carmine hanging off the skyscraper as another clear message to his father. It was obvious that his goal was to completely wipe out the Falcone family line in one night.

Then, as if this wasn't enough, the call from the Watchtower had come in about the presence of an Omega-Class entity in _his_ city of all places, a powerful eldritch being that nearly all the world's magical practitioners had felt, and that had been capable of turning Zatanna into a screaming horrified schoolgirl.

No matter what he did, no matter which option he chose to follow in order to try and bring about peace, he knew for a fact that it would lead to people dying. If he hunted down the thugs and local low-lifes using the bounty as an excuse to harass and mug people, he would be letting The Consultant get his way with killing Falcone's progeny and be letting a world-destroying entity roam around freely in his city. If he chose to hunt down The Consultant, he would be leaving innocents as lamb to the slaughter, and he'd be letting a world-destroying entity roam around freely. If he chose to focus on the world-destroying entity, he would be letting The Consultant get away scot free, and he would be abandoning the people of Gotham regardless.

It was a lose-lose situation irrespective of his decision.

 _HONK-HONK!_

Or, that was what he thought before he caught the sight of a green power bike tearing down the road.

" _Green Arrow to Batman –Black Canary and I have got the streets covered – we'll take care of most of the rabble around here – so you don't need to worry about it."_

That eliminated one significant problem, but it still wasn't enough.

Flipping on the switch on the Batcomputer installed into the Batmobile, the dark knight immediately called home.

"Alfred – I need you to contact John Constantine and Jason Blood. Demonology is their specialty, and they may be able to find this being that we're looking for."

Nothing. There was silence on the other end.

"Alfred – Batmobile to Alfred – come in Alfred."

" _Master Bruce! I… trying … contact … evening – the signal s… I can … Miss Gordon… Skyline…"_

It was impossible. Outright impossible for there to be connection issues in the Batcomputer of all thing – a machine with a processor speed that was easily the fastest on the planet, and had its own private satellite to boot. The only possible explanation, was that someone was _jamming_ the communication system.

"Alfred? Alfred if you can get this – I need you to – " he stopped, his mind easily remembering the snippets he had heard, particularly the _urgency_ that had been in Alfred's voice, and the fact that 'Miss Gordon' and 'Skyline' had been mentioned.

He scowled. No – could she? Could Barbara have gone to the Skyline Club in some attempt to catch the Consultant? That was both incredibly risky and dangerous for her to do. It was the only reason he would _believe_ that she did it.

" _Lost comm… might… danger…"_

The Caped Crusader didn't hesitate as he slammed on the breaks, turning the Batmobile around in one swift drag of the steering wheel, and altering his course straight for the Skyline Club.

Or at least, that was his intention, before he suddenly found the road blocked by a man blond man dressed in casual clothes.

He slammed the breaks once more, veering as hard as he could to avoid crashing into the man in question, and immediately finding the vehicle slamming into one of the streetlamps instead, and properly ploughing through it. The impact caused little damage to his knees and shins, but with his seatbealt on, and with the numerous measures on the Batmobile present to allow it to take that much damage, it was hardly an inconveince. Rather, Batman ejected himself from the seat of the car, flipping out of the machine and landing smack dab in the middle of the street, opposite the blond man who had blocked his path.

This was when he began to notice, that the street was strangely devoid of life, motion or activity, as though cars had chosen to avoid this path, and people had all but left it. Despite it being midnight, and despite the chaos going on in the city, this part was _serene_. _Too_ serene.

He immediately locked his gaze on the form of the blonde haired man, and for a second, he had drawn comparisons with Makarov Dreyer, but they were far too dissimilar. Posture wise, dressing wise, size-wise, age-wise and even hair-wise. Makarov was golden blond, whilst this man was a cool platinum blond that almost appeared silver. Not to mention that the young man in front of him could be no older than twenty-two or so, and his casual attire of a Japanese themed shirt with red flame like designs at the bottom, plain jeans and sneakers did not enable him to possess the same level of sophistication or flair as the Legend Industries C.E.O.

Yet, Batman knew this face. How could he not? Considering that it was being run by certain news channels, and it was the face that accompanied a video of a woman being raped to death by a horse.

He was The Consultant.

In person, he was significantly less intimidating. Yet, Batman was cautious – wary. This was the man that half of the city was looking for, and he just _chose_ to appear before him? When somehow, _no one_ could find him?

"So. Batman… we meet at last."

Batman did not bother returning the greeting. "Surrender peacefully Consultant, this is not a game."

The man snickered, as though he found the sentiment funny. Then, he slowly reached out into his backpocket, and Batman was already moving, ready to dodge, or intercept, or to close the distance and take down the man before he could spring whatever –

"Here, catch!"

Although prepared for a bomb, a grenade, or any other explosive or incendiary device, the Dark Knight was suitably surprised when a plain 9mm was thrown at him, yet, out of caution, he did not move to get the weapon, and allowed it to land harmlessly on the ground, six feet away from him.

He never let his attention waver from the Consultant, at the same time, he kept his keen senses on the gun in case it was a trap.

"I want you to pick up that gun – and kill me."

It was the second time an utterance had made him momentarily confused. In one night, by two different people. Still, wariness and a calm air which could only be attained by confidence and experience tempered his surprise. He was tempted to ask 'why', because he rarely often ever got a request like this, yet, at the same time, he knew what his answer was going to be regardless of the reason he got.

"No."

"I'm dead serious." The man stretched out his arms. "Kill me."

Batman could tell. There was no joking, or amusement in the man's voice, only resolute steel. "If you want punishment for your crimes, I'm not the one going to dispense it to you. You're going to go to jail instead."

The man chuckled. The second time he'd done that.

"Punishment? No – I think you misunderstand." The Consultant said, shrugging. "This is the _only_ chance I'm going to give you – if you pull the trigger and kill me – or if you just do _anything_ to _try_ and kill me – you'll win." He stretched out his arms once more, wider than the last time. "Here. Now. Before it's too late. Even if I survive, which is highly likely, I'll give up on attacking Gotham – on committing any more crimes in this City, and on leaving you to do whatever it is you want, without you ever hearing from me again."

There was an underlying arrogance in his tone which Batman caught, one, which also made it contradictory, in his decision to let an enemy shoot him. Still, the Dark Knight didn't have time for this. There was still an Omega-Class threat on the loose, and whilst the Consultant's sudden appearance was a hidden boon, he needed to wrap this up quickly.

"You're coming with me."

"If you don't kill me," there was something that sounded like a sigh, "I will rape Barbara Gordon and Selina Kyle."

The sudden shift in temperature was one that Batman could not have seen coming, and one that he could not explain, as the temperature got ridiculously colder, yet, he could feel his blood boiling faster and faster at the apparent and clear threat of rape.

"I will torture and massacre innocents whenever I feel like it." He added, as though casually speaking about the weather. "I will raid Arkham and kill or enslave everyone there. Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, and others that catch my fancy will be used as toys for my sexual gratification. Then, I will kill Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, capture their female friends, and do to them what I'll do to Barbara and Selina."

It was _clear_ to anyone, with even the slightest amount of knowledge in emotional and psychological manipulation, that the Consultant was trying to get a rise out of him. The Consultant was _deliberately_ targeting certain spots that he somehow _knew_ would get a rise out of him – and Batman was doing his best to prevent it from working.

Except, it _was_. The Consultant _knew_ their secret identities, that was why he didn't mention Batgirl or Catwoman, or Nightwing or Robin, but their real names. The fact that there was someone out there, present, who knew their real names and was willing to use them to do harm was slightly troubling. Then, there was the message that he'd gotten from Alfred, cracked as it was, about losing connection with Batgirl. It sent shivers down Batman's spine, along with a rush of anger that he tempered.

"And then, once all of that is complete, I will ruin you – destroy you – physically, emotionally, psychologically – after which, and only, after which, I will kill you."

"I've heard enough – you won't be doing much once you're behind bars."

He rushed forward, covering the seven feet distance between them in a rapid blur, his fist already poised for a precise liver punch that would take the Consultant out –

Only for it to be caught in an open palm.

Amused blue eyes stared at him.

"This is not an idle threat, Batman. Kill me – now, while I'm still giving you the choice. Beating or imprisoning me is impossible, because for all your skills and intellect and whatnot – all of them are ultimately useless if you cannot use them to end me, _permanently._ "

It was clear now – The Consultant knew about his no-killing policy, and he had said all those thing in an attempt to get him to break it. Somehow, Batman got the distinct feeling that the Consultant _wanted_ to die – and he wanted to die by _his_ hands. Yet, the dark knight knew better, he knew better than to take that step, to cross that threshold and take a life, and he knew that he could not make it, could _never_ do it, because he would never be the same afterwards.

He leapt back from the Consultant, re-establishing his threat level, particularly as to how the younger man had effortlessly caught his attack, which seemed to belay much greater strength than such a lithe figure would allow.

"I'm not going to kill you."

The Consultant sighed. A thick, heavy sigh practically overflowing with disappointment.

"At the very least – I was being courteous. I highly doubt any other enemy you've faced would have been so kind to give you a warning beforehand."

There it was, the subtle, underling motion that he felt he was capable of outwitting, evading, or destroying him. Yet, in an ironic way, he was also _willingly_ putting himself in a position where he could be grievously killed.

"Why?"

"Why?" There was a chuckle. The third one so far.

"All right, Batman. Let's say, for instance – you found yourself suddenly transported into porn movie."

The imagery was one that was not entirely pleasant, yet, so bizarre that he found himself listening to his opponent despite all the warnings telling him not to.

He'd never faced an enemy that only killed villains before.

Nor had he faced an enemy who _wanted_ to die by his hands. The Joker notwithstanding.

Against his nature, he found himself curious – wanting to solve the mystery of the Consultant.

"You woke up with no memories of how you got there, and an almost guaranteed fact that you are never getting out. So, what do you do? Do you, A, decide that there's nothing left but to make the best of it, and try to make the porn world a better place by abating their minds away from sex, and rising to the top as a president with goals of planetary, interstellar travel – Or do you, B, laugh at the stupidity of the first option, and grab yourself the nearest sexy woman you can find, fuck her senseless, and then repeat the process?"

There was a crude underlying meaning there. One that Batman felt anyone could gleam at, as the metaphorical comparison was almost too obvious.

The Consultant hummed, taking on a lecturing tone as he strutted around the street. "Some would argue, that they _are_ real, and not just fictional characters, because they have sentience and thoughts and dreams and hopes and whatever bullshit ideological excuse. The fact however, is that they do not possess _free will_. They are _not_ human. Their thoughts and dreams and hopes, were inputted like a man would type a set of code, and press enter to run it. Everything they do is predetermined, and their existence is one which exists for people's entertainment."

He chuckled. The fourth time.

Batman had finally identified the emotion – bitterness.

"Again, someone would argue, that this might be the case for _me,_ and who am I to decide that they are not _human_? Except, I am _aware_ of this fact, which makes them even _less_ human." He smiled. "The possibility that I _don't_ have free will, that my successes and failures only exist and happen because _someone_ wanted it to happen – it gnaws at the back of my mind every day and every night and it's enough to drive someone to insanity."

Batman frowned. _Clearly, it has_.

"For all I know, my entire life is being written down as _entertainment_ by some fat, useless slob, and being read and consumed by equally deranged fuckers trying to find an outlet for their demented curiosities and suppressed desires. Hell, the very _words_ I'm uttering right now, the very _fact_ that I hate the idea of me being entertainment, could have been _written_ by someone to _make_ me that way."

Another chuckle. More bitterness. More resentment, yet, strangely enough, resignation and acceptance. Batman's mind churned at the implications of the man's words, although he found himself doubting them. He was not a religious person, and he was skeptical of the concept of some higher being controlling his every action.

"If such is the case, am I _really_ to blame for all the suffering and anguish I cause? If, I am, after all, merely a product of a higher force, acting and doing things as it wants me – am I then, responsible for my actions? Or should all the blame go to this higher force, absolving me of any guilt? Should you then, not also hate this higher force, who decided that it was _necessary_ for your parents to die and for you to have deep-seated issues, fears and problems? All because it would make you a _more compelling character_?"

The manner in which the bomb dropped was enough to make Batman's eyes widen, and his brows shoot up behind his mask.

 _He knows._

He _knew_ who he was.

It was the most bizarre way for anyone to have come out and revealed the fact that they were aware of his secret identity – and then the context, the context in which he'd mentioned it –

"Funny how I've seen and read hundreds of materials focused on people from the 'real' world getting thrust into 'fantasy' worlds that they _know_ only exists as a result of someone's imagination and writing. Yet, they never stop to pause or ponder or think, if they're _being_ in those worlds is also a result of someone else's imagination and writing. The irony and egotism is so laughable."

Batman's brain was spinning. Rapidly thinking. His secret identity had to remain secret for a reason, and although the Consultant did not seem the type to sell that information to the highest bidder, he was the type to casually mention it as though it were an obvious fact.

"Anyway – I think I've ranted more than I intended to. No doubt your brain is already trying to come up with logical solutions and conclusions as to whether or not I really _am_ from a world where your existence is mere entertainment, or whether or not I merely _believe_ I am, and have used this delusion as an excuse for whatever evil I commit."

Honestly, that was least most troubling issue on the Dark Knight's mind. For all he knew, The Consultant could merely be a deeply deluded and troubled individual who had conjured up the concept of the world around him being a fictional one – yet – he was _aware_ of the fact that _Batman_ thought that this would be a possible conclusion.

It was a well maintained delusion, but one nonetheless.

Other than the surprise knowledge of knowing his true identity and that of other heroes, there was no overwhelming evidence to prove that The Consultant really was from another dimension – a dimension in which his life, and everyone in the world were mere fictional characters.

It was insane –

Yet, it was still _possible_.

Alternate worlds and dimensions existed, as the cosmic-warping imps from the Fourth Dimension could attest to. The Multiverse theory was true, and there were infinite universes out there.

When infinite possibilities existed, didn't it become less _unlikely_ , and more _plausible_ that there was a universe where their lives had been compressed into medium of entertainment? Their adventures chronicled and spread into the pop-culture of the people, who had no idea that they were real?

Or, was he overthinking all of this, and merely dealing with a person who had severe case of schizophrenia, but was convincing enough to make his arguments valid?

With the Multiverse Theory, every delusional person on the planet could objectively be right.

"Well, I would say that it was nice talking to you, Batman, but I'm afraid it hasn't been. I knew people said you were a dark and edgy brooder, but I at least hoped you'd engage me in conversation. Or is it that you have some rule against battling philosophical ideals with criminals?" The Consultant snorted "Perhaps Falcone will provide a more interesting insight to the way the world works before I kill him? Though, that's highly unlikely."

The casual mention of murder immediately snapped Batman's attention back to the present, and back to the fact that the man in front of him was a criminal, irrespective of whatever justifications he used for it.

"I'm not going to let you."

The man's eyes roamed over him, and there was another chuckle – the sixth one.

"You're going to stop me? _You_?"

 _Irritation._

"Allow me to point out story-telling 101, Batman. If I am to follow the theory that my life is in fact, entertainment, then there must be conflict to make it interesting. The three types of conflict, are man versus nature, man versus man, and man versus self."

The Consultant _blurred_ forward. The sudden blur was something that Batman could only attribute to speedsters going at their lower capabilities, and suddenly facing an opponent that was as fast as a speedster with little to-no warning or preparation caught him off guard.

This allowed a sudden, violent twisting of his right arm, and a sickening snap that followed. The Dark Knight bit down on his mouth, yet, he couldn't stop himself from screaming out in pain.

"Against nature – I might as well be a god. Against man? The only people that could _probably_ pose a threat to me would be Kryptonian-level races, Lords of Chaos or Order, the Guardians of Oa, the New Gods of Apokolips and _perhaps_ the God-level beings of this planet. For all your skill and bluster – against an opponent that won't hesitate to rapidly kill or cripple you – you are but a mere man."

He blurred to the other side, grabbing the other arm, and snapping it half like a twig.

"A dedicated man."

A blur again, as a fist smashed into his left knee, causing the joint to shatter like glass.

"But a mere man nonetheless."

Agony – it was all the Dark Knight could feel. Blinding, pure, pain and agony. He could no longer control his arms, and he was now aware of the fact that his left leg was bent forward in a hapless manner that no limb had any right being in. His estimation of his opponent's strength level sky-rocketed tremendously, and likewise did his estimation of his opponent's level of danger.

He wasn't someone that Batman could win against alone.

"Hm. I suppose being crippled on both arms and one leg will finally make you invest some money into cybernetic limbs or workable means of cellular regeneration – rather than spending billions on a floating tower in the sky, and millions more on a super car."

The Consultant shook his head as he put his hands in his pockets.

"Falcone comes next – and honestly, _Bruce_ – you _really_ should have killed me while you had the chance."

Broken, his secret identity exposed, his limbs rendered useless, his vision blurring, PAIN flaring, and his opponent looking down at him with as much apathy as an infant would stare at a crushed caterpillar – he could not help but feel the same.

"Instead – you're now going to have to fight off major bounty hunters, thugs and assassins from your rogues gallery, with only one working limb. But don't worry, maybe they'll subscribe to your 'no-killing' policy after seeing you in such a state."

He shrugged.

"Or, then again, maybe not."

And then he was gone.


	11. Gods Among Us

**Ah... this is probably the chapter where many people rage quit this story. Will this break the record for most favorites and follows lost? Let's see how it goes.**

* * *

 **DC - Remastered Edition**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Rooftops**

 **12:34**

Nezumi would admit to being immensely annoyed at the concept.

Assassins, coming after his master?

That was like saying that a horde of killer bacteria were going hunting against a bottle of antiseptic disinfectant.

It just did _not_ happen. It wasn't _meant_ to happen. But somehow, his master was _allowing_ it to happen. Nezumi hopped from rooftop to rooftop in single, long movements as he kept his eyes peeled for any more fools that had it in their heads to go after his master. He had long since realized that his master was wiping off the last of the Falcone bloodline, killing Falcone's sons and sole daughter, hence, Nezumi had decided that he would allow his master complete his task by taking out the impetuous fools that would prove as empty cannon fodder for him.

The streets were almost _literally_ riddled with them. With idiots possessing delusions of grandeur – and it was taking him a few seconds to stop, appear, punch a hole into their hearts, and then move on to the next target. They had guns! Guns! And the fools actually believed, in one way or another, that the guns would be of use!

Why hadn't his master conquered this entire planet already?

Honestly – Nezumi was not amused with the lackluster performance of these beings – these humans. It was a genuine wonder as to how they evolved to become the dominant species on this planet, when the planet was filled with demonic or angelic beings or even godly presences – what could a mere human do to –

A torrent of flame barreled into the side of the demon butler, flame that he realized, with some annoying condescension, could _actually_ harm him. Except, it didn't, because, years and years ago, when he was a measly rat, his master had enchanted him to be fireproof.

He rolled to a stop, idly noting his position on one of the numerous rooftops in the residential area of the city, and turning his gaze to find the one that actually dared attack him.

"At first I doubted, if this was the one, but he survived my attack, and that's never been done."

Nezumi stopped, and stared, at the comical, almost laughable creature that was in front of him. With bright orange skin and horns, dressed in red spandex, green external underwear, and possessing a red cape –

"The Rhyming Demon – Etrigan."

Nezumi would admit, he had not been expecting to meet another demon in the city.

"Blimey mate! What if you'd been wrong? You'd have toasted some poor sod on a whim."

There was another man beside him, blonde hair, brown trenchcoat and a roguishly handsome charm to him, yet, Nezumi couldn't sense the innate magical power within him – no, he was not like his Master, he was just a lesser magician who relied on artefacts, trinkets and tricks. Yet, he knew who he was, because his master knew who he was, and that knowledge had been transferred.

"John Constantine."

The man appeared somewhat surprised.

"Well, that's a first. Never met an Eldritch Demon that knew my name before."

Nezumi rose a brow.

"Come to think of it – I've never met an Eldritch Demon who looks human. And is dressed like… a butler." He admitted "Not to mention going around and saving people by punching out the hearts of thugs and gang members. Definitely a first."

Saving people? Nezumi almost snorted at that. Clearly his intentions were misconstrued.

"So this is a real weird one innit? I mean – every single magical thing on the planet felt you when you arrived, hell, you gave Anna-girl a massive panic attack just by entering into this realm – but you don't seem so… evil-ish… up close."

Nezumi frowned. His presence had been detected by the entire magical community of the planet, and worse, they had been actively searching for him. This was bad – he had effectively countered his master's intentions for stealth and staying under the radar, without even realizing it.

He turned his eyes to the duo, and it was clear that Etrigan was the bigger threat, although, the magic user, Constantine… there was something _off_ about him, and Nezumi knew that leaving that man alive was a surefire guaranteed way to eventually end up dead, or worse, sealed forever into some object.

"John Constantine."

He only hoped his master did not have any greater plans in mind that he was upsetting.

"Yes?"

"Your soul is mine."

Nezumi _blurred_ forward, at a speed that would have easily made him capable of being considered a speedster, before he backslapped Etrigan with his exposed right hand and sent the demon crashing through several buildings, and he grabbed Constantine with his left hand, his fist aiming for the man's heart –

Only to immediately frown as he met a glowing yellow magical barrier.

"Whoo! That was a close –"

He _shattered_ the barrier with brute strength, only to frown once more as the 'Constantine' he grabbed disappeared into a series of talismans. _Explosive_ talismans.

Pointless, however, as he was both fireproof _and_ explosion proof.

"Thy foul demon shall fall, by the might of Etrigan's call!"

The fist which impacted to the side of his face would have done serious damage, and judging by the residual shockwave and burst of air from the impact, Nezumi realized that the Rhyming Demon had significant superhuman strength behind his attacks. Against _him_ however…

"I am perhaps, the worst possible opponent for you."

He grabbed Etrigan's hand, licked his lips and took a long, delightful _crunch,_ straight out of the muscles, bone and meat that made up the demon's elbow.

The distinct look of _shock_ and _disbelief_ that rapidly engulfed Etrigan's face made it abundantly clear, that it was _not_ expecting that. He leapt back, leaving Nezumi to properly chew and then begin to swallow the meal, idly realizing that Etrigan had a somewhat bacon like taste, albeit extremely charred.

He swallowed, loudly, before licking his lips a bit.

"Hm. Delicious."

For once, it seemed that the Rhyming Demon was all out of words.

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

 **Falcone Estate**

 **1:00 AM**

Falcone knew that his time had come.

There had been something whispering in his ear for the longest time. A certain something which told him that the insane man called the Consultant would spell his end. The soft voice at the back of his head which had told him that he could afford spending his entire fortune on a bounty to catch this man, otherwise, he wouldn't even have a fortune left to spend.

Now, the aged patriarch of the Falcone family sat in the silence of his bedroom, already having seen the news, and already knowing, that his sons were dead, and his sole daughter, Sofia, was most likely either being mounted by a gorilla or a wolfhound, before she would be killed as well. Everything he had spent decades to build, his reputation and his legacy – all of it would be undone in a single night.

His children were all gone – so who was going to inherit his wealth?

His empire?

His idiotic lieutenants, filled with greed as they were, would immediately change the name and legacy, to try to make it theirs, that is, assuming the Maroni family doesn't burn them all to the ground first.

He sighed as he looked over his room – a lavish bedroom, large, sturdy mahogany doors, a kingsized bed, a flat-screen TV, a desk and chair for when he was too tired to go to his study, a small bar for when he felt like getting a drink, and all of it, all of it, was his – his alone.

And it was all useless.

He was glad, in a way, that his wife had passed on a few months back, otherwise there was no doubt that the Consultant would have come after her, and likewise made her engage in a disgusting sexual act with another wild beast in order to prove a sick point.

What point was it, anyway? That crime didn't pay? Falcone almost scoffed at the notion. Crime paid, and as long as you went uncaught, it paid big time. The only difference between him and the rich fat billionaires and politicians, was that he had not bothered to be overly subtle with his enterprise as they were. All they needed to do, was to assign some extra 'zeros' to the back of certain checks and documents, while for him, it was significantly more complicated.

The Consultant was just another foolhardy vigilante – the only difference between him and the Batman was his willingness to get his hands dirty.

"Hello, Carmine."

He was certain, that up until a second ago, the desk in his bedroom had been unoccupied. Except, now, it was no longer the case, as a young blonde male with blue eyes sat there, legs crossed, hands steepled, and giving him a calmly amused smile.

His first instinct should have been to call for the guards. His second, should have been to lunge straight for the shotgun kept underneath his pillow. A third, perhaps, would have been to lunge at the young man in a wild frenzy, as he was in a room with the man who had killed all his children and his entire extended family.

Yet, he did none of those things. As a matter of fact, none of those things even crossed his mind. He was strangely calm – serene even, inexplicably so. There was no bubbling anger or rage, just strange, unnerving tranquility. The type, that Falcone knew, he should have no business possessing in a situation like this.

"What did you do to me?"

The Consultant, a boy of no more than twenty, shrugged, and smiled once more. "I am a master enchanter. I basically **Enchanted** this room with a command – three commands per geographical location, to which time, space, reality, and even myself, am subjected to. In this case – the first command was: **Nullify Emotion**."

Carmine knew when he heard something that was true, and now, he felt it, there was a strange sense of bitter amusement that should have been present, at the realization that The Consultant was a charlatan of some sort, and hence, it was inevitable for him to be capable of outwitting and outperforming the normal man. Yet, this emotion, whilst Carmine was aware of the fact that he should be feeling it, he was lacking it.

"Although – the command is kind of redundant for me anyway. I feel nothing, yet, vaguely, I am amused by the fact that I feel nothing. Strange isn't it?" the Consultant then shrugged, "Anyway, come, sit down Falcone and let's have a cup of tea. I personally prefer ginger and honey tea – although, I haven't actually eaten anything in years… huh, how long is it? Seven, eight years? Strange how you forget about not eating when you don't need to."

"You said the first command," Falcone said, feeling strange to be so calm "What are the others?"

A pot of tea appeared in the boy's hand, along with two cups, and Falcone _knew_ that he was dealing with one of those… _freaks_. He could have been skeptical about the information he received, believing it more likely to have been drugged, but unless the drug was also capable of hallucinations, then the fact that a pot and two ceramic cups had appeared out of thin air was enough to confirm that the Consultant truly was a shaman of some sort.

"Neither of us can leave this room or call for help as long as one of us remains alive," The Consultant said, "And no one in this room can tell a lie."

That sent some warning bells immediately into Falcone's head. "What?"

"Don't believe me?" The Consultant smiled, "Alright, let's put it to the test. How many times did you cheat on your wife before she died?"

Falcone frowned. "At least fifty times." His eyes went slightly wide as the words escaped his lips.

The Consultant nodded. "Ever had sex with an underaged girl?"

"Yes." He wanted to _growl_ at himself for answering, yet, he couldn't. He couldn't feel anything except from a detached apathy.

"Ever _raped_ an underage girl?"

"Yes."

The Consultant hummed.

"How young was she?"

"Fourteen." Falcone said, "I was twenty one at the time."

The Consultant put his hand on his chin and looked very intrigued. A form of sickening intrigue that Falcone couldn't place.

"Oh? Do tell – go on, don't spare any of the details."

What was the Consultant's endgame? What was the point of doing this? Did The Consultant hope to torture him by making him have a casual conversation with the very man who killed his children? Did he hope that he could break his resolve by preventing him from exacting his revenge?

"She was the local Baker's daughter – she was attractive enough, so much so that you'd think the little thing was probably four years older. I made some passes at her and she refused. Back then, I didn't have as much to do cause my old man was the head of the Falcone family. I was spoiled, rotten – I felt that I could do anything and get away with it. So, when she refused my passes, I got angry, and me an' a couple of my boys back then planned to do the deed. We broke into the baker's shop – I shot the baker myself, and we dragged her out and stripped her clothes bare. I whipped her with my belt for some time because hearing her cries made me feel more excited. I went first. She was a virgin – but that was expected cause she was young. Once I had my feel – I let my boys go at her one at a time."

The Consultant sat, slowly sipping his tea.

"And then…?"

"What else? I killed her – set fire to the entire building, and made it look like they'd died in an accident."

There was a chilling silence that Falcone couldn't place. Particularly in the manner that The Consultant was watching him, observing him, with eyes that saw more than they had any right to.

"That wasn't the last time you raped someone, killed their family, and then framed it up as an accident, was it?"

Falcone frowned. "No. I did something similar many times."

"Anyone stick out most prominently?"

He paused. He struggled to answer, particularly because of an ominous feeling that answering would spell disaster, yet, he could not help but speak the truth.

"The Cabrera Family – about, twenty-five years back or so."

The temperature seemed to have dropped by several hundred degrees, and Falcone noted, that the man's eyes were still curious, _still_ sharp and observing, yet, they were haunting in a manner that made the mob boss shiver, watching as his breath formed a cloud of mist in front of his face which proved that the colder temperature was not merely his imagination.

"So," The Consultant was merely turning a spoon in his tea, a spoon which had not been there a second ago, "What made the Cabrera Family stick out?"

He almost snorted. Almost. "They were an idiotic group – mobsters that wanted to help the people and give back to the community. They founded their family based on the old, ancient traditions of the earliest Mafioso, and I knew, that if given enough time to grow, they'd have become as influential and wealthy as the Waynes. They'd already gathered the Waynes interest because of their policies – and I couldn't just sit back and watch them take over Gotham. So I killed all of them – tortured them for the trouble and to send a message to anyone with similar ideas."

"You killed all their men?"

Falcone frowned. "Yes."

"You raped all their women?"

"Ye–" he stopped. "No." He couldn't answer that question as a yes, because it wasn't exactly true.

"Oh?"

"There was one that got away – though I didn't know it at the time. Ella – or something I think. I found out about fifteen years ago, when she went on trial for child molestation and abuse. She was a loose end."

"Eva."

"What?"

"Her name… was _Eva_."

The eyes. Those eyes which stared at him would come to haunt Falcone for as long as he lived. He had a feeling, that if there was not a force, actively preventing the boy from displaying any emotion, he would have lunged at him, and torn him into a million gory pieces.

The Mafia Boss was quick on the update, and he noticed it, the eyes and the hair, those two defining features –

"You – you're a Cabrera."

A wild grin.

"Yes."

It – it wasn't possible. There was no way – he'd made sure to eliminate all the men, and there was no way that a twenty-something year old male Cabrera should exist – the only other Cabrera that should be running around was the final loose end, the woman's abused and molested son who had escaped from the hitman on that night – but, that was just fifteen years ago, there was no way that –

"You – you're her son?"

A wilder grin.

"Yes."

"That's – you shouldn't be this old –"

No sooner had he spoken those words, did the visage of a twenty something year old fade away. In his place, was a much younger person, with slight baby-fat on his face, calmer looking eyes, and slightly duller looking hair – it was unmistakably a teenager, and unmistakably a Cabrera.

"Carmine Falcone." The voice was softer, yet, it had an edge to it "I have waited, for almost thirteen years, for this moment. I thought I would kill you quickly, and be done with it, or I thought I would torture you agonizingly, and make you experience the same ignominy – but none of these options are quite as good as what I have planned for you. First – let us make sure you can _feel_ again."

It was like someone had pulled an invisible carp over his head, and all at once, he could feel the blood pumping in his veins, hear his erratic heartbeats, feel the sweatiness of his palms and the beads of liquid coalescing on his brow. Then, all at once, adrenaline pumped into his system in the form of the primal emotion of _rage_ , as the loss of his children and sister came crashing back unto him like a wild tiger unto unsuspecting prey.

"I'LL KILL YOU! YOU BASTA –"

All of his unrivalled fury, all of it, was pointless and useless in the face of what he had forgotten, was some sort of sorcerer. Thorny vines rose from the ground, piercing into his heels and hooking around his feet, stabbing into his palms and piercing his wrists, wrapping around his mouth, and slamming him to the bedroom floor, pinning him in place.

The Cabrera stared down at him, eyes devoid of all mirth. "Congratulations, Falcone. You will be the first in my series of ritual experiments."

Falcone couldn't speak, still frothing at the mouth, staring at the gall of the _boy_ in front of him, the _boy_ who had cost him everything! _Everything!_

He was too busy frothing to take note of the manner in which the blood from his wounds had spread out from his body, curving and turning until it formed a hexagon linked within a circle around him, and slowly, more and more words began to form from the blood.

" **Blood Ritual: Voodoo Branch."**

He did notice, however, when the Cabrera brought out a two vials of blood, and roughly forced it into his mouth.

" **Blood of the father, blood of the son. Blood of the sister, Blood of the one.** "

Falcone's eyes widened with disgust at the realization that he had just swallowed the blood of his deceased relatives, and his anger, which had been fueling him to insane irrationality, slowly began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of ill foreboding and trepidation.

" **Enemy mine, lie here defeated. Before all time, my vengeance requited.** "

In a flash, the Cabrera stood over him, his hand buried deep into his chest, before he ripped it out, holding a bloody, still-beating heart in his hand.

" **And henceforth, the enemies of my enemy, the friends of my enemy, the acquaintances of my enemy, past and present, connected by blood, the ritual compels you –"**

Falcone's consciousness only remained awake, barely, so he could hear the final words.

" **Begin thy purge.** "

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

 **Gotham City**

Screams rocked through the air in Gotham City.

Barbara Gordon knew that she was not entirely a religious person, but even she would admit, that all those who witnessed such an event, would convert to religion and believe in God.

"T-this… this… what could _do_ this!"

She stared, sickened beyond all measure, unable to hold her lunch in as she immediately retched over the side of the gargoyle she was sitting on as a vantage point, courtesy of the sight which stood before her.

Like all great events of disaster, it happened unexpectedly, suddenly, and completely without warning. Like Noah's flood or the Passover, those who were marked were vanquished, and those who were not were saved. She saw, as all over Gotham, one by one, men fell, their hearts violently ejected from their ribcages as though something or _someone_ had reached out into their chests and pulled it without warning. The people who died seemed to be at random, except, it wasn't. Barbara _knew_ it wasn't. They were Falcone's men, or Ibanescu men, or Maroni men, or Moxon men, or members of the Black Mask's crew, or Two Face's Gang, or Penguin's gang, or – or –

It didn't matter _who_ they were, all that mattered, was witnessing how their hearts suddenly ejected from their ribcages, how they screamed and gurgled blood from the pain, how their eyes stared, disbelieving in their final moments as their brain came to the realization that it had lost a central organ, as they collapsed to the ground, gurgling, gasping, with desperation in their eyes in their final moments. Their still beating organs lay beside them, almost mockingly.

One, by one, they fell, by the dozens, but the _hundreds_ – all of them – all of them –

Barbara retched again, the sandwich she'd eaten earlier that evening getting stuck in her throat and almost choking her, as pieces of partially digested lettuce and tomatoes forced itself out her nose, the sensation sending burning pain through her nostrils. She paid no heed to the fact that parts of her vomit had stained her uniform and hair, even as she hacked, and coughed, and forced more of her partially digested food out her throat.

A part of her didn't know how, or why, but she _knew_ , she _knew_ , that there was only one person who could be behind this.

She grit her teeth, ignoring the taste of vomit in her mouth as she almost practically roared out in agony, the moniker of the one responsible for the massacre.

" _Batgirl – come in Batgirl!"_

She stopped, panting, breathing heavily as she held up her communications device, wiping her vomit-stained mouth with the back of her hand.

"Night…wing?"

" _There's been an emergency situation._ "

She seethed. "I _know_. I think _everyone_ knows – considering half of Gotham is littered with _fucking_ hearts!"

" _No. Not that."_ If he was disturbed by her uncharacteristic swear, he didn't show it. _"It's… Bruce._ "

Her heart sank.

" _He – he's been…_ " Nightwing stopped. " _The situation has gone out of what we can manage. Bruce ordered me to get you to safety."_

"What?"

" _He believes you're in great danger. He wants you safe,_ now. _"_

She snarled. "I'm _perfectly_ safe! What happened to Bruce?! _"_

" _No, you're not! Barbara, I know the sight out there must be horrible, but listen – you're in danger! It's not safe out there!_ "

"What. Happened. To. Bruce?" she ground out.

" _He's –_ "

"Safe."

It was only the calming, reassuring quality of that voice, which she'd heard hundreds of times beforehand, that stopped her from turning around and attacking, or leaping away in fright.

The hollow looking smile of the tall man with the giant S on his chest, did very little to soothe her mind.

* * *

~ DC – Remastered Edition.

* * *

 **Falcone Estate**

 _ **It is finished.**_

I stared, slowly, at the body in front of me, watching the lights go out from his eyes once and for all, feeling the wet, warm, and grossly fleshy organ in my palm, hearing the screams of Falcone's men and guards as the ritual took place, and they would experience the same thing that I had done to the man himself.

Part of me could not believe that I actually came this far. Part of me did not believe that I actually did it. Part of me was still waiting, for Falcone to somehow rise up, and snort, telling me how I was a fool for thinking I could be rid of him that easily.

Yet, none of those things happened.

He… was dead.

Along with over two thousand or so other men.

 **Revenge Mission Completed!**

 **Blood is Thicker**

 **Carmine Falcone and the Falcone Family completely wiped out most of your family. It is only fair that you return the favor.**

 **Main Objective:**

 **Kill the Entire Falcone Family, down to every last henchman, every dog, every goldfish, and every unborn child. [Completed]**

 **Bonus Objectives:**

 **Do Not Get Caught [Completed]**

 **Only Reveal Your Identity to Carmine Falcone in his last moments [Failed]**

 **Organized Extinction: Eliminate all of Falcone's enemies, allies and acquaintances. [Completed]**

 **Fast Track: End Falcone's Legacy within twenty-four hours [Completed]**

 **Rewards:**

 **You have gained $75,000,000!**

 **You have gained Falcone Family Territory!**

 **Massively Increased Reputation in Gotham!**

 **Massively Increased Influence in Gotham!**

 **Massively Increased Reputation with Villains of Gotham! You are now: Dreaded!**

 **Massively Increased Reputation with the Gotham Underground! You are now: Dreaded!**

 **Massively Decreased Reputation with Heroes of Gotham! You are now: Loathed!**

 **Massively Decreased Reputation with Gotham Police Force! You are now: Loathed!**

 **You have unlocked: Mafia Operations!**

 **You have unlocked Achievement: The Godfather**

 **You have unlocked Title: The Godfather**

 **Bonus Rewards!**

 **You now own all the properties of Gotham's Crime Families!**

 **Achievement Unlocked: Mook Genocide!**

 **You have gained 24032 EXP!**

 **You have leveled up!**

Strange as it was, I realized that this was the first quest I'd actually completed. Even stranger, it was one of the first quests I'd ever gotten.

Not that it mattered, as I stared down at Falcone's body – slowly dissipating away into particles of light, no evidence left behind whatsoever. I knew, that the same would be the case for the thousands of men who had died this night. All of the major heads of crime families were affected and would be dead. Effectively, I'd crippled organized crime in Gotham, in one night, doing more damage to it than Batman and the police had done in over twenty years.

Unfortunately, the Penguin, the Joker, Two-Face and Black Mask did not count as Falcone's 'true' enemies, so only their hired muscle had been killed. The men themselves would be unaffected.

Still, _still_ , I realized…

I'd just opened up a _lot_ of apartments and job opportunities for people.

That'd be good. 'Makarov' would make use of the opportunity for more PR, and to quickly aid the homeless and the unemployed populace.

I chuckled. The amusement was thick, because now, Falcone was dead.

He was dead.

Gone.

Forever.

I didn't… feel any better, for killing him.

It didn't make any difference.

 _She_ didn't come back to life magically and kiss me on the cheek to congratulate me for avenging her.

I just felt… hollow. _Bland._

 _Empty._

It wasn't like I set out some grand plan for revenge or anything, or as if I focused primarily on attaining revenge – but still – I suppose I expected to feel… _more_.

I sighed. Ah well, I suppose it's to be expected. I didn't have time to stand here and contemplate whether or not my actions made any difference in the long run – it was irrelevant. All that was left for me to do, was to focus on destroying Batman and the Justice League, and of course, enjoy myself to the fine collection of wome –

 **New Main Quest Unlocked!**

I stared at the notification in disbelief. A quest? I haven't gotten any of those in _years_. I'd almost even forgotten about the whole quest system, if not for the Revenge Mission and the Ultimate Quests.

 **To Temper Justice With Mercy**

 **Congratulations! With an estimated three thousand, seven hundred and forty eight kills, a bounty of one billion, feats including, but not limited to, the jamming of the Batcomputer, the evasion of top assassins like Deathstroke, Deadshot, and Chesire, the crippling of Batman, and the Death of Carmine Falcone all in one night, you have now officially been registered as a serious threat by the entire world, and the Justice League!**

Okay?

 **As a result, the entire Justice League is here to beat you into submission and put you away for a long,** _ **long**_ **time!**

I blinked. _What?_

And – that was when a green train promptly slammed into the building.

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

They were on edge.

How could they not be?

They had all seen the devastation created by one man. Even if all the bodies and evidence had disappeared immediately afterwards, there was no forgetting the sight of streets littered with hearts and dead bodies. Worse, they had no idea, how a person called a _consultant_ of all things was capable of wreathing such damage.

Thankfully, Batman had the decency to attach a vitals monitor to the Batcomputer and to the Watchtower computer, immediately alerting the Justice League to his location in the case of a severe accident or injury, in which he was on the verge of death. They'd managed to rush him to the medical facilities, but most of the damage had been done. Batman's knee would not be healing any time soon, and neither would his arms. With how badly they were broken, causing internal bleeding, and having the jagged bones stick out of his skin – intense surgery was required. Regardless of the outcome – the Dark Knight would have lost a great deal of mobility in his arms, and he would essentially be crippled – forever.

The thought of it had sent their blood boiling.

Wonder Woman, aka Diana of Themyscira, wished for her blade to sing with the blood of the one responsible. Even now, as she was in the City, as she had seen the streets of hearts and dead bodies, her desire for blood was ever stronger. Her bloodlust was only slightly tempered by the Man of Steel, Kal-El, who, despite possessing a calmer appearance, she could tell, that his eyes were sharp and dangerous, and he was more than willing to use the required force to bring down their enemy.

Hal Jordan and J'onn J'ozz, the Green Lantern and the Martian Manhunter also stood at the ready, or, in their case, flew at the ready, as the Green Lantern was the first one to launch the attack, summoning his constructs and sending a bullet train made of the hard light of condensed willpower launching into the mansion where they _knew_ their opponent stood.

In a blur of yellowish lightning, the final member of their team arrived, clad in red, and often faster than the eye could see. The Flash.

Normally, he'd make a quip, but the mood was far too somber for that to happen. The person they were after was someone who had hurt one of their own – levity had no place here.

"Well, talk about one hell of an introduction."

The young man shot out from the dust, brazenly standing on the roof of the Falcone Estate, his hands in his pockets, as he spotted a wild, almost savage grin on his face.

"Justice League!" He took a long bow, "My name is Zed Rander – pleasure to meet you."

Diana was about ready to snarl that the pleasure was not reciprocal, when a comment from the Man of Steel threw her off guard.

"You're… a kid."

Silence.

"What? What are you talking about?" Green Lantern said, frowning "He's old enough to be an adult – he's at least twenty –"

"Woah, woah, woah! Hold up here!" The Flash added, pointing "What are you talking about? I know a teenager when I see one – and that's definitely a teenager."

Diana frowned, turning to the villain in question, who, truly, looked like a young man of at least twenty or twenty one –

"You – you can see past my –" the young man stopped. "Of course you can. Different types of vision. Manipulating light wouldn't work on you, I get, but The Flash? How…"

It was with flourish that the 'young man' vanished, the illusion fading away and revealing a young persona within it. A young boy who still had baby fat on his cheeks, and was suitably somehow short for a teenager –

And it _was_ a teenager.

There was no way the person in front of them could be any older than fifteen at the very most.

The silence stretched on even longer, and most of their rage and anger had morphed into confusion and disbelief.

"Wait… you're telling me, that Bats was almost done in… by someone who's not even old enough to drink?"

They had approached, ready to face an evil on the same level of perhaps Darkseid, or a foe such as the Joker. Yet, they had never faced an actually competent foe who was so young before – never. Most of the time, such skirmishes only occurred between the younger members of the Justice League, such as the Teen Titans – so this was entirely new territory for them.

Fortunately, it was new territory, for him _too_.

* * *

 **XXXXXXXX**

* * *

 **Name: Kal-El/Clark Kent**

 **HP: EX**

 **MP: N/A**

 **Level: EX**

 **Age: 30-ish**

 **Race: Kryptonian**

 **Occupation: Reporter**

 **Title: Man of Steel**

 **Current Alias: Superman**

 **Affiliations: Justice League, Justice Society of America, Daily Planet, Krypton, Metropolis**

 **Base of Operations: Metropolis**

 **Alignment: Good**

 **Identity: Secret**

 **Citizenship: American**

 **ATTRIBUTES**

 **Strength: EX**

 **Vitality: EX**

 **Dexterity: 2.17M**

 **Charisma: 967k**

 **Intelligence: 1.24m**

 **Wisdom: 543k**

 **Luck: EX**

I almost wheezed. Almost. Superman's Dexterity score was in the _million_ s. The _millions_. His Strength and Vitality were both EX ranked. I'd been fairly confident about my ability to handle him before today, except, the stats did _not_ lie, and if I was to go on stats alone, I stood no chance against the Man of Steel. Especially when I realized that his name…

It was written in _Gold_.

My eyes whipped over to the Flash, hoping to see something more comforting –

 **Name: Barry Allen**

 **HP: 755K/755K**

 **MP: N/A**

 **Level: 730**

 **Age: 32**

 **Race: Human**

 **Occupation: Forensic Analyst**

 **Title: Fastest Man Alive**

 **Current Alias: The Flash**

 **Affiliations: Justice League, Justice Society of America, Central City**

 **Base of Operations: Central City**

 **Alignment: Good**

 **Identity: Secret**

 **Citizenship: American**

 **ATTRIBUTES**

 **Strength: EX**

 **Vitality: 1.2M**

 **Dexterity: Mathematically Incalculable**

 **Charisma: 9213**

 **Intelligence: 10.2M**

 **Wisdom: 14k**

Well… fuck.

I kept my calm, mostly because of **Gamer's** **Mind** , and partially because they were still bickering amongst themselves as to what to do with me, because I was not yet an adult. My mind was instantly drawn back to my latest quest, which, as I had discovered, was essentially reality's way of smacking me in the face.

 **To Temper Justice With Mercy**

 **Congratulations! With an estimated three thousand, seven hundred and forty eight kills, a bounty of one billion, feats including, but not limited to, the jamming of the Batcomputer, the evasion of top assassins like Deathstroke, Deadshot, and Chesire, the crippling of Batman, and the Death of Carmine Falcone all in one night, you have now officially been registered as a serious threat by the entire world, and the Justice League!**

 **As a result, the entire Justice League is here to beat you into submission and put you away for a long,** _ **long**_ **time!**

 **Main Objective:-**

 **Survive or Escape the Justice League**

 **Bonus Objectives:**

 **Attempt your most futile struggle against them**

 **Futilely manage to wound one of them**

 **Escape with half of your health remaining**

 **Rewards:**

 **Freedom**

 **You live to fight another day**

 **Failure:**

 **Incarceration and/or Death**

Bullshit.

 _Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit!_

 _BULLSHIT!_

I'd trained – I'd haxed my way for thirteen years without food or sleep – and you're telling me, that with all the power at my fingertips, I'm _not_ as strong as the Justice League? I _don't_ have as much power as they do?

 _UTTER FUCKING BULLSHIT!_

" **Status."**

 **Name: Isaac Zachariah Cabrera**

 **HP: 35.4k/35.4k**

 **MP: 45k/45k**

 **Level: 48**

 **Age: 16**

 **Race: Human (Homo Magi)**

 **Occupation: Private Investigator, Consulting Criminal**

 **Current Title: The Consultant**

 **Current Alias: N/A**

 **Aliases: Zeddicus Zul Zorander/Makarov Dreyer/Salem Spellman**

 **Affiliations: Cabrera Family, Gotham Nightlife Association, Gotham Criminal Underground, Gotham Magical Underground**

 **Base of Operations: Gotham City**

 **Alignment: Neutral**

 **Identity: Relatively Known**

 **Citizenship: American**

 **ATTRIBUTES**

 **Strength: 912**

 **Vitality: 2732**

 **Dexterity: 1093**

 **Charisma: 1023 [TOGGLED – ON]**

 **Intelligence: 840 [TOGGLED –ON]**

 **Wisdom: 403 [TOGGLED – ON]**

 **Luck: 349 (+50) [TOGGLED – ON]**

If it were based on pure stats alone, then I knew that I had no chance – but – I had skills, I had _maxed out_ skills – all of which would work in my favor – all of which, I could use to my advantage.

 **Skill Trees**

 **Alchemy Skill Tree**

 **Intermediate Alchemic Rituals (Passive) Lv. 86**

 **Master Alteration (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Animation (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Conjuration (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Enchantment (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Nature Magic Skill Tree**

 **Intermediate Nature Rituals (Passive) Lv. 74**

 **Master Summon Grass (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Summon Pebbles (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Summon Leaves (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Summon Vines (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Animal Discourse (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Animal Manipulation (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Blood Magic Skill Tree**

 **Intermediate Blood Rituals (Passive) Lv. 56**

 **Greater Blood Drain (Active) Lv. 83**

 **Greater Blood Manipulation (Active) Lv. 39**

 **Soul Magic Skill Tree**

 **Intermediate Soul Rituals (Passive) Lv. 53**

 **Greater Astral Projection (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Body Possession (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Master Voodoo (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Soul Conditioning (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Soul Slavery (Active & Passive) Lv. Max**

 **Soul Bondage (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Soul Music (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Necromancy Skill Tree**

 **Intermediate Necromantic Rituals (Passive) Lv. 64!**

 **Master Soul Drain (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Superior Create Undead (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Superior Reanimate Corpse (Active) Lv. Max**

Musical Mastery Tree

All Maxed

 **Piano Mastery**

 **Guitar Mastery**

 **Violin Mastery**

 **Percussion Instrument Mastery**

 **Flute Mastery**

 **Trumpet Mastery**

Other Skills

 **Acrobatics (Active & Passive) Lv. Max**

 **Cheerleading (Active) Lv. 94**

 **Dancing (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Double Jump (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Homestyle Cooking (Passive) Lv. Max**

 **Housekeeping (Active) Lv. Max**

 **Instant Dungeon Creation (Active/Passive) Lv. Max**

 **Pickpocket (Active) Lv. Max**

 _Deep breaths._

 _Deep breaths._

 _You can do this._

 _This is what you've been training for_.

 **Gamer's Mind** kicked in, sharper than ever before, and my eyes narrowed as I worked out my plan.

First, I would need to transform the environment around me into a Kryptonite forest. **Alteration** made sure that I could turn anything into anything, as long as I knew that the material I was transforming was non-living. While the Kryptonite weakened Superman, and everyone was still surprised by it, I would turn the ground into ice to make sure that The Flash lost his footing against me. Then, my next target would be Martian Manhunter – fire was his weakness. With **Alteration** I'd snap my fingers and use Mustang style – which would be enough to disable him for a while. Green Lantern and Wonder Woman were the odd ones out, she was nigh-invulnerable hence she was the bigger threat. I just had to watch out for Green Lantern's attacks, and get close enough to use **Pickpocket** to steal his ring. Wonder Woman could be subdued by tying her in her own rope – a tactic that she'd fallen for hundreds of times as much as I can remember.

Failing that, Plan B would be to create an undead army with **Superior Create Undead** , summon demons from hell with **Conjuration** , or get close enough to use **Master Body Possession** or **Master Soul Drain**.

Plan C would probably involve using **Alteration** to create a diamond/kryptonite golem, and using **Animation** to command it to move and attack. Creating enough of these should be what I need to give me the numbers advantage.

Plan D was to convert all the breathable air and oxygen around me into Cyanide. Except… Superman would be unaffected mostly, the Flash would outrun it, I had no idea how Cyanide worked on Martian physiology, and Wonder Woman was part-goddess. Only Green Lantern might be affected – except, his ring came with its own personal atmosphere which enveloped him, and allowed him to travel through space unaffected by lack of oxygen and harmful dark matter.

I scrapped Plan D and went on to Plan E. Getting their blood, hair, or other personal artefacts to use as foci – and then utilizing **Master Voodoo** to make them fight against each other. Far easier said than done.

Plan F and G were both busts, so I skipped to plan H – Hidan. Using **Master Voodoo** on myself, and inflicting damage on myself so that it transferred to them. Problem was, I needed a foci, and I doubted they'd be willing to just lend me parts of their clothes or hair.

Plan I – Instant Dungeon – send them to my personal dimension and leave them locked there, where I could manipulate their sensations of time, increase the heat and atmosphere of the dimension, and was a literal god. Problem was, getting them _in_ to the place. Though, it was workable.

'Alright – let's do this!'

 **Warning!**

 **You are about to commence a Boss Battle against Five Bosses tremendously above your level. Your estimated chance of success is 0.00000000000001%.**

 **Do you wish to proceed?**

 **(Yes – I wish to die)**

 **(No – I like living)**

 _Stop Mocking Me!_

 **You have chosen to die.**

I went with plan A first, slamming my palm into the ceiling of the Falcone mansion, willing my mana, and watching as cement, wood and other materials began to convert into the glowing green form of the radioactive material that was Kryptonite.

' **Alter: Kryptonite Fore –** '

– **12034HP!**

I didn't know where it came from. I didn't know how it happened. I wasn't even sure _who_ had been the one to do it. All I knew, was that a devastating punch had sent me flying into the sky. I wasn't even sure if it was a punch, an uppercut, or a kick, the world merely rushed by, as I ascended, higher, and higher, and higher, Falcone's estate appearing ever smaller in my vision.

And then I was caught – by the back of my jacket, like a stray cat.

"You – _created_ Kryptonite."

Let it be said, that people underestimate how terrifying the Man of Steel is. Having him _look_ at you, gaze at you as though he was trying to figure out something, with that coiled hair and chiseled chin, and the eyes which ominously glowed red –

But, he was holding me now. He was _holding_ me. That, was his biggest mistake.

' **Soul Dr –** '

I was back on the ground.

I couldn't explain it. One second, Superman was holding me in the sky, the next, I was on the ground, my hands roughly tied behind my back with glowing ropes that I _knew_ belonged to none other than Wonder Woman.

 _How?_

 _HOW?_

 _What is – what was –_

I wanted to scream.

 _HOW?!_

 **Codex Entry – The Flash**

 **Barry Allen, or in this case, The Flash, is literally the fastest man alive. His top speed cannot be calculable, but he is indeed several times** _ **faster**_ **than the speed of light. However, to utilize this speed effectively, The Flash's speed of cognition needs to be higher than his speed of movement. This makes the Flash capable of thinking and processing thoughts in mere** _ **attoseconds**_ **. Essentially, to the Flash, a single second, is approximately thirty years. This however means, that he knows what you will do the very instant you start doing it, and has already developed a thousand counters for what you will do when you start doing it. The Flash's speed of comprehension is equal to that of Superman, as the Man of Steel can stretch out a single second into numerous decades in his mind, and both are capable of having a conversation whilst, to them, the world is frozen solid.**

 **Essentially, it doesn't matter what you do. They already know you're going to do it, and they've already thought about how to stop it, before you can even start it.**

 **Be thankful they don't kill.**

My jaw clenched shut.

 _Speed of thought_.

I was _infinitely_ slower than them in thinking – a second, stretched out over thirty years? It was… impossible.

But – but – this made no sense – if they were this capable, how were foes like Captain Cold and Lex Luthor actually going to give them a challenge? How in the world did they face off against people who could comprehend information like _gods?_

 _Bad writing and character nerfing?_

That couldn't all be it… Could it?

"So, what do we do with him?" I heard Green Lantern ask.

"He's too dangerous to be put into any of Gotham's prisons," Superman responded, "At the same time… he's just a kid. I'm not even sure if putting him into _any_ prison is a good idea."

"He killed _thousands_ of people! He _crippled_ Batman!" Hal Jordan said with a snarl, shooting a dirty look in my direction.

"Criminals."

All of the Justice League was staring at me now. I'd envisioned this moment on top of a throne of bodies, with sexy naked women at my side or on my dick, and the Justice League in chains – yet, irony hit me, as I found myself being the one, bound by the Lasso of Truth, a prisoner.

 _Hubris_ seemed to truly be my magical flaw.

"What?"

"They were all criminals," I said, shrugging. "Every single person who died tonight – not one of them was an innocent man. They were all criminals, and they died."

"They were _people!_ " Hal yelled.

Not to me, no. "That's up for debate."

"Be that as it may," the oddly serene voice of Martian Manhunter was something I never thought I'd hear "We cannot merely pardon him because of his age. He needs to understand that his actions have consequences."

Oh, I'd definitely learned that tonight. I'd learned that I wasn't strong enough to face the Justice League head on, and that Batman was one of the weakest members of it, despite what his fanboys and useless hype would tell you. The Flash and Superman were two of the deadliest members, and the only way I was going to beat them was if I was on an equal footing with them. As it stood, I was nowhere near capable of running faster than the speed of light, or increasing my speed of thought to god-like levels, and all my previous delusions of godhood had shattered like a glass condom on Valentine's Day.

This was… an interesting experience, but I'd lost far too much here. They knew my real face, they knew my real age, and they didn't know my real name, but they'd gotten some clues as to how my abilities worked. Imprisonment was _not_ an option – not now, not _ever_.

Thankfully, this was a situation in which I had the right skill for. A skill, which, for the most part, I had thought useless, but now, it was the only thing I _could_ use, without tipping off either the Man of Steel or the Flash, and it was the only thing that could guarantee my escape.

Without any warning, or without needing to vocalize the move to use it – I activated it.

' **Greater Astral Projection** '.

My body hit the ground, unconscious, as my soul was freed from a mortal shell. I turned my attention to the Justice League, grinning in satisfaction at the realization that _none_ of them could see me, because none of them were particularly attuned to the supernatural.

Attempting to possess any of them was far too risky in such a situation. They were on guard, and they'd no doubt not take any invasion well, so instead, I turned to my body – my interesting, mortal body –

" **Animate: Self Destruct.** "

And I blew it up.

* * *

 **XXXXXXX**

* * *

Nezumi calmly used a handkerchief to wipe his lips, eliminating the stain of the blood that was on them, and letting out a silent burp from the delicious meal he had enjoyed. He looked down, to the remaining bones, and promptly brought up two skulls, one, large and demonic, and the other one, distinctively human.

Perhaps their skulls would make for useful items in a potion or ritual?

At the very least, they would be good ornamental pieces around the mansion.

Still – he had felt his master's magic activate whilst he was fighting – and he had felt several of the incompetent humans around him die. That was good, his master was finally starting his plans of world domination.

Now all Nezumi needed to do – was help him in earnest.

He blinked, turning his attention to the side, as a massive explosion occurred off in the distance, leaving a giant mushroom cloud shape that went several meters into the sky.

Nezumi shook his head, particularly as he felt a soul anchor itself to his location.

"Are you in need of a new body, Master Zack?"

…

"No, Master Zack, I was not, in fact, being sarcastic."


	12. Renewal

**Longest Chapter I have so far typed for this story. Cuz Much reviews. Much favs. Much follows. Much wow. The most favorited and followed story in the entire Justice League section of this site? Neva saw it comin'.**

 **Also - the Justice League I am using is based on my own personal estimation of their true powers and capabilities and their in-canon feats based on the numerous comics I've read, from across the ages and through different iterations, New 52, Rebirth, etc. The opinions of the 'SI' are not my entirely my opinions, and he can be blindsided by things he doesn't know, or could be greatly wrong about things he thinks he knows. For instance, I, personally, enjoy the JL's 'no-killing' policy, because I find it humanizing. My 'SI' on the other hand, considers it retarded.**

 **So on the issue of 'JL is uber OP!1111'**

 **I say:**

 **Comic Writers adapt the character's powers to fit the story, rather than the story to fit the character's powers - because the latter is hard work. Also 'OP' is a subjective term as far as I'm concerned. Even the world's greatest sniper is vulnerable to a grenade in the bathroom while taking a shit.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 **DC - Remastered Edition**

* * *

" _All of Gotham City weeps, for the tragic, massive loss of life –_ "

" _The man known as Zed Rander, The Consultant, a controversial figure best known for his challenge against the alleged, and presumed deceased mob boss Carmine Falcone, is said to be the one responsible for what is now being called 'The Gotham City Massacre'."_

" _Mayor Hamilton Hill has issued a general curfew on the City of Gotham which is to be strictly enforced by the Police –"_

" _The Justice League have issued a statement detailing that The Consultant is dead – as the criminal presumably blew himself up in what was a failed suicide attack against five of its members."_

" _A candlelight vigil service is being held today, in lieu of the massive death toll that has never before been seen in Gotham City's, and this Country's history –"_

" _Legend Industries C.E.O. Makarov Dreyer made a public statement today condemning the killing and the violence, and has called into the question the efficiency and efficacy of the Gotham City Police Force, and the Justice League, pushing for more drastic means of ensuring peace and order in the City –"_

" _Rumors speculate about the fate of Gotham's own vigilante, Batman, as he was last seen on the night of the massacre, and has not been heard from since. The Justice League, so far, have refused to comment."_

* * *

 _ **XXXXXXX**_

* * *

"Amusing, isn't it?"

Rain drops fell, one by one, their combined might a small drizzle, pelting the ground and rooftops with a steady rhythm. Atop one of such roofs, two figures stood, umbrellas in hand.

"Criminals they were – nearly all who died. Yet, even criminals have family – even criminals have wives, fiancées and girlfriends. Even common criminals have daughters, sons and children. So even common criminals will have a vigil for their deaths."

Down below, gathered, were numerous people who shuddered under the cold.

"Of course, they chose a candlelight vigil – and then it rains. Either that's the way Mother Nature is trying to tell them that it does not care about the deaths of their loved ones, or that it cares far too much."

There was an annoyed grunt from a distinctively female voice. "Is there a reason why you called for this meeting?"

"Considering I pulled a lot of strings just to get you here, I should certainly hope so."

The man turned to her, his form immaculate, his face gruff with a suitable beard."The Batman has been crippled." He said with no preamble. "Though he will walk again, he will never fully regain control of his arms and will be but a mere shadow of his former self. Hence, Gotham City is left without a suitable protector; it is all but ripe for the taking."

"Then take it." The female voice said, "I have more important things to worry about."

"Oh, like completing your little _Task Force_?"

"How do you –"

"I am _old_." the voice said, laughing "With but a few exceptions less than the number of fingers I possess, I am the oldest living being on this planet. Do you truly think there is nothing of great import that goes on that I am not aware of?"

"I shouldn't even be _talking_ to you."

"But yet," the voice mused, "You are. You are here, because you know, and I know, that if you were not of use to me, you would have died long ago." A chuckle. "Not that it matters to me if you die here and now. I will outlive you by eons regardless."

"What do you want?"

"The Man who crippled Gotham in twenty four hours."

"The Consultant?" a frown. "He's dead."

"I find it hard to believe, that after accomplishing so much, a man like that would choose to kill himself in an attack he knew was destined to fail." A smile. "Oh, no. It is much more likely, that he is biding his time, waiting, recovering from his setback – and planning something, something much, much greater."

"You want to find him?"

"Yes."

"Why?

"Is it not obvious?"

The immortal grinned.

"I want him to succeed."

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

"I think we got fucking lucky."

Luck.

He had not believed in it before. Never accounted for it, and considered it mere probability than some universal force looking out for him. Yet, even he could not deny, the odds and strange fact, that the one target he had failed to capture, the one target he had failed to even _locate_ , in all his years –

Happened to be someone capable of crippling the Batman, and wiping out thousands of people in one night, using an unknown method.

"No. Not luck. _Skill_."

It wasn't luck. It was skill. The Consultant had evaded them at every step and every corner, and made it so he could not be found. A man like that was above his paygrade, and although it stung at his pride, he valued his life far more than he did his ego. The knowledge that there were people much stronger and much better than you was always present, which was why he never deliberately targeted more dangerous foes in the Justice League. Not even all his skill with a sword and gun would help him against Superman.

"So… what do we do now?"

That was indeed the question. Gotham City was still very hot so to speak – although, as it stood, there were no real protectors of it. Batwoman, Nightwing and Batgirl were all that stood between Gotham City and complete anarchy – such an opportunity would be absolutely unwise to waste. The police force was already spread ridiculously thin in attempts to keep the peace, and several key players of Gotham had been eliminated – leaving hundreds of caches of weapons and other far more valuable goods left unguarded. Some… more valuable than others.

" _All_ of the gang members of Gotham City were killed?"

"That's what the news is saying."

"Even members of the _Intergang?_ "

She had always been quick on the update, and it was something which made him proud, as it was expected of his daughter.

"I'll get the preparations ready."

"Make it fast. I doubt we'll be the only ones after that prize."

The Penguin, Two-Face and Black-Mask had lost _all_ their forces – which meant that they could not send their normal goons out to retrieve anything for them, and until they regained their members and lieutenants, they would be effectively crippled as well. However, this also meant that most of their guarded properties were also left open – ripe to the taken.

He personally had no interest in what they might have, but the thought was alone to make him realize just how much damage one man had caused. One person had effectively crippled crime in Gotham more brutally than anyone thought possible.

He would have respected the man, and actually would have liked to meet such a person, however, that was no longer possible.

So, the mercenary for hire merely said a silent posthumous thanks to the Consultant – for paving a way for a possible goldmine.

* * *

 **XXXXXXXX**

* * *

 **You have completed the Quest –** **To Temper Justice With Mercy!**

Merely hijacking another body was something that had never been in my intentions, especially when I could merely create one – as I had done when ripping off Pein's Six Paths techniques.

The issue, of course, was to create one that was _far_ sturdier than the previous one. Using artificial minerals would be a pointless endeavor, as there was no doubt in my mind that Superman could shatter diamonds, and Wonder Woman could cut through it. So, instead of conventional methods of creation – I went with Alchemic **Enchantments.**

" **Enchanted** on the Flesh – **Immunity to Fire. Immunity to Frost. Immunity to Wind. Immunity to Earth. Immunity to Lightning. Immunity to Piercing Damage. Immunity to Slicing Damage. Immunity to Blunt Damage.** "

Then the next layer.

" **Enchanted** on the Bone – **Nullify Gravity**. **Nullify Wind Resistance. Nullify Weight. Greater Strength. Greater Fortify. Greater Magic Defense. Triple Greater Strength. Triple Greater Fortify.** "

Then, the final layer.

" **Enchanted** on the Soul – **Auto-Instinct. Animate: Auto-Dodge. Voodoo: Auto-Counter. Animate: Auto-Counter. Auto-Counter: Cain's Counter. Animate: Auto-Eject.** "

The body was created from a lock of my hair which I had possessed in my inventory. It, was in essence, still my body – but with the new additions, it might as well be something else entirely. My soul slipped into it like as though I was slipping into a skin-tight body suit, and then the sensation faded away, as I literally got accustomed to my new skin.

"I believe Congratulations are in order Master Zack."

I turned, my attention landing on Nezumi, as he handed me a long robe. I took it, before merely humming.

"And why would that be?"

"You have made your mark on the world Master Zack," he said enthusiastically "Even now, I can hear the pitiful cries of the souls of the unworthy that you have delegated to the underworld. I attained a strong connection to Hell after consuming the flesh and souls of the demon and the magician, and your name is certainly mentioned with fear amongst the denizens below."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that information. I supposed it was good – in a way, it was progress. Although, I had a feeling that we would be meeting a lot more of the supernatural elements of the world, considering that Nezumi had succeeded in killing and consuming the soul of John Constantine – a person that both demons and angels alike were not quite fond of.

"You've done well, Nezumi – with the fortress, and with dispatching the heroes."

He bowed, "I am at your service, Master Zack."

So… all that remained now… was…

 _The Justice League._

I snickered.

"Master… Zack?"

I had been outmatched, badly, insanely outmatched. For whatever reason, I believed that the Justice League I was going to be facing would be the ones of the comics, or maybe the cartoons, or hell, the CW Series. That they would be inept, slow, ineffective, and grossly underutilizing their powers and their true potential.

Except – when there was no overarching 'plot' holding them back, the Justice League were insanely powerful.

I remembered the Flash series – Barry Allen, had, in one scene, ran with a buff man from a prison in Central City, to somewhere in _China_ , all in the span of the time it took for a prison security camera to swing from left to right. That was about eight seconds, if I was being _generous._ Yet, in another scene, Barry, who had ran to China and back in less than that time, could not catch up to The Thinker in a slow flying chair that couldn't even be as fast as a private jet.

In that scenario – as it was in _all_ scenarios – the Justice League lost because plot demanded them to lose. They struggled because plot required them to struggle. All of their powers were irrelevant, and they could only do what the plot needed them to, or needed them not to.

Except – here, they didn't have that restriction.

In this world, there was no conspiring force trying to stop them from winning – they stood an equal, or perhaps, better chance at succeeding against me, and that had shown in the one-sided beat-down that I'd been on.

The fact was simple:

 _I can't beat the Justice League head on_.

It was… impossible, at least, with my current skillset and capabilities. In another ten, twenty, or thirty years, it would seem more likely, but as I was now? I'd have better luck trying to convert the Joker into a devout Catholic.

Even with my newest additions – I still would not be capable of taking down all of them at the same time. Perhaps, a guerilla styled war against them would be preferred – tackling them one after the other, and leaving The Flash and Superman for last. If I hit them hard and fast, there was no doubt in my mind that I would stand a significantly increased chance for success –

As long as I made sure that neither Superman nor the Flash could find out about the attacks. Both of them could circle round the entire planet in the time it would take me to inhale – rendering my ambushes pointless.

I snickered again.

"Master… Zack?"

It was funny for me to think, to realize, that my dream which I had felt was an inevitability, was somewhat closer to an impossibility. Until I gained the speed-of-thought to contend with Superman and The Flash – there was absolutely no way I could single-handedly contend with the entire Justice League at once and take them all down like I was Goku bitch-slapping characters from the One Piece fandom.

Another snicker escaped my lips.

Thirteen Years – what the hell had I been doing in all that time? I had been so deluded and assured in my power and superiority that I had not bothered to do something as simple as basic recon on the entire Justice League. Hell, I'd lived in Gotham for _years_ and I only ever set my eyes on Batman just _yesterday_. Had I been that cocky in my superiority? Why wouldn't I be? My powers essentially made me nigh-godlike. However, 'almost-godlike' _wasn't_ godlike, and I'd gotten a bitter taste of what _true_ godlike power was.

I laughed.

Jesus! I couldn't help it – it was just… so… ridiculous. The Justice League was ridiculous. What were the writers high on when they decided to make people capable of comprehending information in _attoseconds?_ What were they thinking when they created powers so terrifyingly powerful, that someone like _me_ , was more or less a minor hindrance than a major threat? I could drain people's souls, mind-control them, alter atoms to turn air into _cyanide_ – and even then, I couldn't _scratch_ them! _Scratch_ them!

I laughed, and I laughed –

It was – all of this was –

I grit my teeth.

 _It – IT – IT –_

 **Gamer's Mind** kicked in, and I calmed down. Of course. I supposed 'frustration' was a negative psychological effect. It couldn't have me feeling that now could it? Let me remain the perfectly calm, perfectly rational person who didn't and couldn't give up on his life dream because of a major setback.

 _Life dream?_

Yes… a three year old boy who'd lost the only thing he ever cared about decided that killing and enslaving the world's greatest heroes and villains would become his life dream.

And for thirteen years – he was still chasing after something so ridiculous.

 _It's just a slight setback – why give up now? What kind of coward gives up on his dream just because he faces unexpected difficulties?_

No – what kind of _idiot_ would have such a pathetic dream to begin with?

But it's not like I had much options to begin with. With my Gamer powers, what would I do? What would I become? A desk monkey, crunching numbers for the rest of my life, and going back home to kiss my fictional wife? An astronaut? Exploring fictional space with fictional aliens? President? Leading a version of the world that had less rules and systems in place than Sid Meier's Civilization games?

A Superhero?

Deceiving myself to be satisfied into seeing the smiles of people who were unaware of the fact that their lives were meaningless?

What would I do?

What else would I _fucking do?!_

I grit my teeth hard, hard enough that it should have drawn blood, but yet, I felt no damage.

As the Gamer – I could have become anything. I could have chosen any other path, and I'd become rich and famous, the president, a superstar, a celebrity – I could have all the booze and alcohol in the world, all the women I could ever want, all the sex a man could hope for. But – what would it be worth in the end?

If I died here – I would be sent to either heaven or hell.

I would be condemned, to _eternity_ in a _fictional_ afterlife.

A _fictional afterlife_.

How… how was I supposed to live as a normal person, as a hero, as a president, politician or astronaut, when that fact hung over my head every waking second?

The alternative is immortality – to live forever in a _fictional universe_.

Hah! Considering that I'd be in hell forever regardless, immortality is the lesser of two evils – but it doesn't make it any less horrifying. Knowing that I am destined, to live for years and years and years and years – _forever – and ever and ever and ever –_

 _Why the bloody fucking hell, would I want to be a hero?_

Why the hell, would I want to be _normal_?

As it stood, I would outlive the entire Justice League. I would outlive the Teen Titans. I would outlive _Superman_ – all because, _I can't afford to die._ Not _here_. Not _ever_.

Let's say I _did_ conquer the Justice League, let's say I _did_ rule the world, take over everything and everyone, turn Darkseid into skinny girl with large boobs, made The Presence into my personal cobbler, ruled over the universe… the most terrifying question that came, was the most obvious –

 _What next?_

Life only had meaning because death was a constant.

Remove death – and what was the point of existence?

– **0HP!**

I had been punched. I could tell that I had been punched because of the impact, and although it had done absolutely no damage, and felt like someone had poked me, I was now across the room – which was more than enough evidence that the hit had possessed the necessary force to push me back.

I leveled a cold gaze unto the assailant.

"Nezumi… did you just… hit me?"

The Butler took a deep bow. "I am afraid so, Master Zack. Partially, to confirm the true extent of your newest upgrades, and partially to rouse you from your… state. I could taste an existential crises around you Master Zack, for which I quickly ascertained must be a magical ailment inflicted by an enemy. Although, it is preposterous for them to have infiltrated the fortress, so, hence, I assume it was a curse with a delayed effect."

My eyebrow twitched.

"Although, I must say, Master Zack, you are far… sturdier than before, and your Auto-Counter seems to be in fine condition." Nezumi rose his hand, which was a mangled mess, as though he had punched it into fine paste of flesh. I rose my attention to his face, where there was a fine placed fist imprint engraved on it.

 **Auto-Counter** – it was exactly as it said it did. For every attack I received, my body would quite literally break barriers of time and space to inflict an attack with equivalent or greater damage to the assailant, _immediately_.

If you shot at me with a laser beam or a sniper rifle – the **Voodoo** mode etched into my soul would activate, and the damage would be immediately transferred to the attacker. **Cain's Counter** made it so that repeat damage or offense would be doubled. If you were to punch me once, and then punch me again, **Auto-Counter** would make it so I punch you _four times_. If you punched me three times, I would counter immediately with _six strikes_. Hit me five times, and you would be hit _ten times_. It was automatic, and the counters happened faster than I could even perceive – but part of me felt that The Flash would be able to see it happen.

"I believe I have dispelled the effects of the curse, now, Master Zack. You may, however, deem me with whatever punishment necessary for striking you."

I stared at him, waiting expectantly for a punishment of some sort or the other. Nezumi was loyal – but punching me was not something I could casually overlook.

"Destroy yourself."

He didn't even flinch. "As you wish Master Zack. It has been my pleasure, serving you."

He punched his hand into his chest, bringing out a phantasmal green essence that embodied his 'soul.'

" **Alter!** " A snap use of alteration turned his arm into a giant Popsicle before he could crush his soul. He turned to stare at me.

"You've proven yourself loyal, Nezumi," I said with a tired sigh. "I can hardly punish you when your only crime is being found guilty of loyalty."

He took a bow. "I am but your humble creation, Master Zack. A being who cannot be of service to his creator has no purpose existing."

The words were more chilling to me than he probably realized.

"If I may ask, Master Zack, what is our next plan?"

The question brought me back to the moment, to the issue of the Justice League, to the reason Nezumi had punched me in the first place. I'd already set some things in motion, and unless I became a speedster and went back in time, what was done was already done.

"It's November, Nezumi," I said slowly, "For now, the Justice League are still on high-alert, and doing their best to run damage control. Gotham City will become a hotspot of activity sooner or later once people find out that Batman is out of the picture… so for now… we enterprise."

"We… enterprise?"

I nodded. "Most of the villains will be coming out of the woodworks about now – drawn to The Consultant's legacy – either inspired by him, motivated by him, or attempting to take advantage of an opportunity that was created by his actions." I said, putting my palms together as I closed my eyes, "Those who lost significant manpower – Black Mask, Penguin, Two-Face – they'll be desperate. Their crime empires will crumble to pieces without adequate management – so they'll be doing their best to try and get as many new goons as possible. Drug deals in the city will crawl to an all time slow because most of the dealers and suppliers are dead – and now, people will need drugs more than ever because of the 'tragedy'."

"I assume that we will be taking advantage of this?"

I nodded.

"Right now – the city is lacking in numerous things – the first, is goons, thugs, and hired muscle. The second, is a steady supply of drugs and drug dealers, and the third, believe it or not, is suitable security – aka – a Police Force."

Nezumi rose an eyebrow. "The GCPD –"

"Have been crippled because more than half of the force was corrupt. My ritual wiped out all of Falcone's men – including those he had on the inside. Hundreds of cops were on his payroll, and if not _his_ payroll, they worked for one of the other gangs in Gotham. As it stands, the GCPD has been purged of corruption – but, that means they are now effectively understaffed."

I rose, putting my hands behind my back. "Less police translates to more crime – but with nearly all the petty criminals dead – this means that only the major players will be coming out. It's almost _guaranteed_ seeing as how Gotham has less protection without Batman in it – so this means a series of heists or villain attacks will rapidly skyrocket in the upcoming weeks. It's also highly likely that a breakout occurs at Arkham."

"You wish to prevent that?"

I nodded. "Yes, but first – I need to take control of the drug trade in Gotham. Wipe out heroin, cannabis, LSD, cocaine – and replace it with a far better… _substitute_." I said with a smile. "To do this, I need better knowledge of chemical compounds and plants – so that means I need Scarecrow and Poison Ivy."

I withdrew a card from my inventory, turned it into a chalkboard, generated some chalk and then wrote it – **Item One**.

"Once that is done, I need distributors, but more importantly than that – I need workable, disposable, but still highly efficient minions. A veritable Army – one actually capable and dangerous, which will immediately control all crime within Gotham."

I wrote down – **Item Two.**

"A portion of this army will join the police, and another portion will work as independent contractors – skilled, capable, an alpha team. This ensures that they gain a form of rapport and solidify my control over Gotham. It is at this point – we begin the systematic elimination of the crime lords."

I marked it – **Item Three.**

"At this point, I'm essentially in charge of all of Gotham – all that's left, is legitimate political power, so, Makarov runs for Mayor. First decree? Make Vigilantism an offence punishable by death in the City of Gotham."

I penned – **Item Four.**

"Then we tear down Arkham and establish the ' **Metahuman Reformation Institute**.' A… _place_ where criminal Metahumans with special powers are 'reformed' for the good of society."

Then, it was complete – **Item Five.**

I turned to Nezumi. "Gotham City will mark the change in the world – honestly, with the level of technology this world has, it should be Mass Effect Level or Star Wars Level by now – there should be readily available interstellar and intergalactic travel – but somehow, it's still stagnating in the Information Age. Definitely need to correct that as the emperor of the earth."

Nezumi was grinning. He was grinning so widely that it almost took me back for a brief second.

"I, of course, always knew, Master Zack – that you were indeed destined to rule this planet."

I coughed uncomfortably into my hand. "Er – well yes. Anyway – this is essentially the starting point. The drug I create to replace all drugs is essentially going to be one of the major points of progress – so, the sooner I get my hands on Poison Ivy and Scarecrow – the better."

Nezumi nodded.

"And the army…?"

I grinned. "Homunculi. The Justice League will think they're real people, and will try their best to avoid killing them – they, on the other hand, have no such restrictions. Plus, it will make them far more efficient, and less likely to be red-shirted Stormtroopers."

If it was possible, Nezumi grinned even wider.

"And the Justice League, Master Zack – how exactly do you intend to deal with them?"

I took in a deep breath.

"The Justice League's major point is that they are the defenders of the world – of earth. The 'heroes' of society. I don't even _need_ to fight them – at least, not without avoiding it. So, how do I completely defeat them without raising a finger?"

I grinned.

"I make them obsolete."

 **Main Quest Unlocked!**

 **Main Quest Tree Unlocked!**

 **The Evil Overlord List** **–** **Part I**

 **It's time to fight smart and not hard. To avoid idiotic mistakes, and to take the smartest path to victory. Cheating? Underhanded tactics? Cowardly behavior? I think you mean – Common Sense.**

 **Main Objectives:**

 **Item One: Kidnap/Abduct Scarecrow and Poison Ivy to create the Super-Drug**

 **Item Two: Create an army of Homunculi**

 **Item Three: Have your army infiltrate the Police and have them distribute Super-Drug**

 **Item Four: Makarov Dreyer Runs For Mayor**

 **Item Five: 'Reform' the Villains of Gotham**

 **Bonus Objectives:**

 **Allergic to Red: Make your army an antithesis to Stormtroopers and Redshirts**

 **On Their Own Volition: Have any Villain/Hero join your cause without forcing them**

 **Total Makeover-City Edition: Eliminate Gotham's Crime Rate/Turn Gotham to a Utopia**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Rewards:**

 **Title: God of Gotham**

 **10,000,000 EXP**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Failure:**

 **Death/Incarceration**

 **Anarchy of Gotham**

It was a plan. A plan that didn't account for godlike speedsters or Kryptonians – but it was a workable plan nonetheless.

"So – Poison Ivy and Scarecrow –"

"I can sense both of them, Master Zack." Nezumi said. "They are both currently at Arkham Asylum."

I nodded, slowly closing my eyes as I began thinking.

"One Week."

"Master Zack?"

"If no breakout occurs within the next seven days, we launch our own strike at Arkham to extract them. This is suitable enough time for things to settle slightly in Gotham – and also a time frame that I think would be optimum for a breakout to happen."

I marked on the board – **Seven Days' Time**

"In the meanwhile – we have an army we need to begin working on. I think we'll start small – with five hundred homunculi first."

"Master Zack." Nezumi said, taking a deep bow, "I would be deeply honored, if you will accept my selfish request, and make it so I take care of the creation of the Homunculi for you."

I quirked my brow. "You can do that?"

"Master Zack, for you, I can do anything."

Those words again, I grinned.

"Alright – so that leaves item four – Makarov Dreyer running for Mayor." I frowned. "Superman and The Flash can both see through my illusions – so I need to be able to find a different way of changing my appearance – Shapeshifting is the best option – but because I can't **Alter** living matter, I need to figure out another way to shapeshift."

To this end – It meant I would need to find a character who could naturally shapeshift, and then absorb their powers. The only person who came to mind now, was Clayface – which meant that I'd have to track down the petty criminal and gain his ability.

Alternatively, **enchanting** an amulet to change my appearance would work, but it would be a far less effective solution. I rubbed my nose in irritation, as I realized that tracking down Clayface _was_ going to be my best option so far.

"Master Zack, if you will permit me," Nezumi said "But – I believe that you are in need of some, _rest and relaxation,_ as it were."

"What?"

"Your goal to conquer Gotham, Master Zack, operates fully at your own schedule. There is no need for urgency, nor is there for everything to be rushed – time is trifling to a being such as yourself." The butler explained, "As it stands, Master Zack – a few days spent – clearing your head, or perhaps partaking in cuisine, women or wine – would certainly benefit you in the long run. After all – there is no point in conquering this feeble world Master Zack, unless you are suitably happy doing it."

"I –" I wasn't quite sure what to say to that. "I think you may be right, Nezumi."

Some time off?

Rest and Relaxation?

That was true – in a way. Still, I felt as though I had rested and relaxed enough – I felt as though these past thirteen years have been that – except – it hasn't. It was work, grind, train, and establishing a billion dollar enterprise whilst making sure everything looked legal and fine.

Yeah… I think I could go for some of that.

"Oh, also, Master Zack," Nezumi added, "Whilst I was impersonating your Makarov Dreyer persona to make the speech condemning the massacre, I aided you in leaking certain information about the fact that Bruce Wayne has been diverting funds from his company for 'unknown' expenses. I believe, in lieu of the massacre, the public would be quite incensed at discovering that their supposed beacon of hope does not shine as bright they previously believed. This is too your satisfaction, I believe?"

I smiled.

"Nezumi – have I ever mentioned how awesome you are?"

"I do not believe so, Master Zack," the butler said, chuckling "But, such praise Master Zack, should belong to my creator alone."

"I am your creator."

"Then you, Master Zack, are the awesome one."

It was official –

Nezumi was the best.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **2:21 PM**

 **11** **th** **of November**

Rest and Relaxation… Nezumi had said. Rest and Relaxation.

I found myself idly walking down the streets of Gotham, attempting to find some 'rest and relaxation.' I looked no different from my normal sixteen year old self, although, I had dyed my hair black and changed my eye color to a dull green. I added a few inches to my height, and my hair was now in a short ponytail. If I stood side by side with my previous appearance, no one would be able to tell that I was the same person.

"Rest and Relaxation… where do I find that?"

Maybe I'd go to a Spa?

No, my body would probably freak them out with how solid it was.

A strip club then?

I hadn't entered one of those since Eva was alive.

Sigh – I guess all that left was a bar – where I'd use my quick witted tongue and take whatever girl I saw to a hotel for some action. Though, my sixteen year old form would probably draw some strange looks in a bar.

Maybe I'd find Barbara and torture her for kicks and giggles? I did wonder how the girl was doing considering I'd crippled her father figure and killed thousands of people in her city. Had she broken yet – or was her will still going strong?

Alright – I guess all that was left was to toggle on my **Luck** and see where it led me.

I waited in place, as if to see if some magical event would suddenly happen from activating my luck –

Nothing.

I sighed, turning my attention to a random storefront in front of me. Should I rob the place for fun? No – counter-intuitive to long term goals. How about possessing the shopkeepers? Or…

Shoplifting.

A wave of nostalgia hit me.

Shoplifting. That was something I hadn't done in ages. I could still remember the time I'd hesitated to shoplift, and how I'd ended up killing a Trigon cultist because of it.

Ah – good times.

I skipped my way over to the store, entering it as unassumingly as ever, and immediately turning my attention the numerous aisles available. So… what to steal, what to steal?

I leaned over a set of watches and sunglasses, particularly a cool looking shade that I fancied. Maybe I'd take thi –

I immediately perked up when I noticed a dot on my map. A _blue_ dot.

That was odd – blue dots indicated allies, and I most certainly did not have any allies so to speak – so who –

I turned around, bumping slightly into a woman behind me. She seemed to be in her thirties, but still had a surprisingly good looking body for it, with thick brown hair, and dressed in what was clearly the store's employee shirt and a pair of jean trousers. My eyes landed upon her face, and whatever quick-witted flirt I wanted to roll off my tongue died as soon as I saw her.

"A-Aunt… Purity?"

She went still as her gaze turned to me.

"What – did you call me?"

My mouth was dry.

"Isaac?"

I froze.

"Isaac… is – is that you?"

I stared. She stared back. There was no denying the face, although slightly more aged, wearing far more conservative clothing and much less make-up – I could recall the face. Anywhere. Anytime.

"Aunt… Purity?" I let out a small smile "Yeah… it's me."

"Oh my god," I didn't know how to handle overwhelmed women. Or, more accurately, I didn't know how to handle them without resorting to mind bending. "It – it really is you – you –" she clasped her hands to her mouth, and then she lunged at me.

Honed instincts and **Auto-Counter** wanted me to either dodge or counter – stopping the threat before it had a chance to get close – She barreled into me, a move that was not an attack, because any person who attacked like this would be dead, and because if it were an attack, **Auto-Counter** would have kicked in. Her hands wrapped around my form, and she squeezed me closer to herself, close – too close – a thin needle could have been kept firmly between us with the lack of space available. My nose picked up the scent of sweat and cheap cherry perfume, long hair tickled at my nose, and I stood, awkwardly unsure of where to place my hands at the sudden close contact. Did I put it on her back? That would be touching her bra – which would be odd, or did I put my hands lower, at her waist? Would that be seen as sensual?

It was the first time in a long while I'd felt uncertain about something.

It was also the first time in a long while that I'd been… hugged. That I'd been given a _genuine_ hug. It was the first time in a long while that I'd felt this physical sort of intimacy, and not the cheap, empty ones I'd gotten from picking up high school and college girls.

There was an annoying warmth in my stomach, it was spreading to my throat, spreading all around me like some sort of virus. It was making my lips relax, and contorting it into some form of… smile.

I chalked it all up to the effects of this new body. It was most likely the sole explanation.

The hug grew tighter, and although it'd be ages before she was capable of actually exerting enough pressure on me to break my bones, I let out a slightly uncomfortable cough to point out my discomfort.

"Oh!" she released me, a sheepish smile on her face as my eyes pointed out the pinpricks of tears around her eyes. "Sorry – it's just – I – I can't believe you're –"

"Alive?" I added helpfully, and watched her nod. "I'm still kicking. At least – for now."

"Where've you been? _How_ have you been? You've grown so much taller! You dyed your hair? Why are your eyes different? You grew a ponytail! Did you eventually go to Gotham Academy? Did you get a scholarship? I always knew you were smart for your age! You –"

I had a feeling the never-ending tirade of questions would not stop, so I promptly put a single finger on her lips.

"Aunt Purity –"

Thankfully, she had the decency to look embarrassed. "Sorry – it's just – I'm just… _happy_ to see you, to know that you're still alive."

I wondered if she'd still have that feeling if she knew what I'd done.

"So… er – um," she struggled for the words "I really, _really_ want to catch up and know what you've been doing and everything – but I've also _really_ got to go pick up my kids from school –"

My brain paused for a brief second.

" _Kids_?"

She gave me a simple, sheepish smile.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

The last time I'd been in a car driven by someone else, was when I was being taken away by the police. The view across Gotham had been one of those things that had enthralled me, particularly because I'd felt it a wonderful, large and lush landscape for a gritty-type adventure.

Now, though, when I looked at Gotham – I saw a fictional place that suffered because someone said it had to suffer, just so one man would have a cause to fight. I shook my head at the thought, instead, I turned to the woman sitting in the driver's seat, giving her a slightly amused look.

"So… little Aunt Purity has kids now?"

"Yes." She gave me a playful glare. "It happened about three years after you went missing and Eva… anyway. I just couldn't bring myself to go through with another abortion… and thinking of you and Eva… I decided that maybe a family of my own wouldn't be too bad."

I rose an eyebrow. Was this one of those cause-and-effect, butterfly-effect things? My presence changing things without me even realizing it?

"Also, I'm not in _that_ line of work anymore, so _please_ don't call me that in front of the kids."

"Okay," I said with a roll of my eye "What do I call you?"

"My name?"

I gave an exaggerated gasp. "You actually have a name?"

"Harr-Harr," she said, "Of course I have a name. What do you take me for? An extra in an action movie?"

"More like a 'fill-up-the-world' character in a comic book." I quipped.

"You know," she grumbled "I don't remember you being this cheeky when you were younger."

"I was _plenty_ cheeky," I said matter-of-factly. "Just never to you."

"Wait – so, Eva _wasn't_ lying through her teeth when she said you often outwitted her and scolded her like a child?"

She did that? Huh. I could almost picture how funny it must have been.

"Nope." I popped the 'p', before reclining the seat of the chair back. "I don't think she had it in her to come up with a lie that crazy."

"But – you were a year old!"

I nodded. "I was."

"That's… impossible!"

"And so is flying through the air and aliens. But, no one seems to have given Superman the memo."

The car came to a gentle stop in front of a traffic light, and Aunt Purity turned to look at me out of the corner of her eye. "So… you were some sort of 'super-baby?'"

I shrugged, mixing a blend of the truth and a lie. "Kind of – just enhanced intelligence and limited precognition mostly."

"That's… amazing!"

I nodded. "Yep." I popped the 'p'.

She chuckled. "Well, you're certainly not lacking in any confidence."

"Nope." Another 'p' popped.

"Wait… Does… does that mean that you remember everything that's ever happened to you?"

There was a certain uneasiness in her voice. "Yep."

"E- _everything_?"

I nodded, giving her a knowing look. " _Everything_."

And I could feel the jovial air shatter.

"The light is green by the way."

She momentarily panicked, stalling the car for a bit, before she hit the gas and continued onwards. I'd have to be a complete idiot not to have noticed the change in demeanor, and I sighed.

"I don't hold you to it," I said dryly. "So you and a couple of other women got off on manipulating a child to give you cunnilingus – I don't care. It's gone – it's something so trifling and insignificant that I'd almost forgotten about it."

The car screeched to a stop, forcing me to adjust myself lest my head go flying through the window.

"Uh – Aunt Purity –"

"Naomi." She whispered. "My name… is Naomi."

It was funny, how I knew that information. People's names were always floating on top of their heads after all, and hers, Naomi Brooks, had been there since I met her. Of course, I still called her Aunt Purity – but something told me she didn't like being called that.

"We're not yet at Gargoyle Middle School." I stated, "That's about three blocks away."

"What I did to you –"

"Forget about it." I interrupted before she could even begin, waving my hand. "You were a horny prostitute who'd made horrible life choices, and taking advantage of a child was just one of them. That's in the past, and it's not a big deal."

She stared at me, genuinely conflicted. "How can you just – forget about it, forgive me for it –"

I shrugged. "This is Gotham City."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

I opened my mouth to respond, and then closed it. Gotham City brewed psychopaths like the Joker, Two-Face, and even the twisted persona of someone like Batman. In such an environment, it was only natural to be predisposed towards certain tendencies. Of course, I had a feeling she wouldn't like the argument.

"Nothing," I said instead. "Just… don't blame yourself for what you did while you were in a dark place in life."

She still seemed conflicted, and I sighed. "If it'll alleviate any of your guilt, how about I take advantage of _you_ and we call it even?"

Nothing but the sound of cars rushing by past us filled the small family vehicle for several seconds. I could tell that she was considering it, mulling over it in her head, and at the looks she gave me, I knew, that a part of her felt slightly disgusted with the fact that I'd brought up the option. Then, there was disgust with the fact that she'd _actually_ considered it.

"You- you're still sixteen. No – doing what you suggest – it's not any _different_ , I'm still the one taking advantage of you." She stopped, "And… I've given up… that sort of life, exchanging sex for something… _anything_. It isn't the answer?"

"Then... what is?"

"I… don't know."

I didn't say anything afterwards, as the sound of the car engine roared back to life, and the car was once more back on the road. It didn't take long before I spotted the large iron gate of Gargoyle Elementary, the cartoonish versions of the beasts that stood on each side of the gate, and the slew of schoolchildren and parents leaving the premises. A part of me felt it would be funny, to **Animate** the gargoyles to life – although I knew it would send people screaming in terror, it would have made for a good prank.

"I… um –"

"You're having second thoughts about introducing me to your kids."

"What? N-no!" she sputtered, "I –"

"It's fine." I said. "You don't have to lie. If they meet me, they'll want to know what our relation is – and you can't exactly tell them, I'm the son of your stripper/prostitute ex-worker you thought dead several years ago, and conned into performing sexual acts on you. You'll have to lie or come up with a convenient excuse – one which you'll have to keep up and remember, making you lie again and again to your children's faces."

I turned to stare at her slightly stunned face.

"This is that… super intelligence thing you were talking about… isn't it?"

I chuckled. "Kind of. But honestly? I just don't really want to be the reason you have to lie to your family. I'm a lot of things… but, hypocritically of me, I'm not a liar. At least – not when someone I care about is involved."

There were too few people on that list for it to matter anyway. I opened the door, and stepped out of the car, before leaning on the open window.

"Nice meeting you again – Aunt Pu – Naomi."

"Isaac – wait!"

I paused, partially out of novelty, partially out of curiosity.

"Stay."

"What?" I wasn't sure I heard her right.

"Stay – I – I want you to stay. To meet my kids – to get to know them," she said, slightly faltering "It isn't much… and it can't make up for all the years lost, but I'd really like for us to be something… something like family."

 _Family_.

How… quaint.

I laughed. "And what will you tell your kids?"

"That you're an uncle… or something – it doesn't matter."

"You'll be lying to them."

"I'll tell them the truth," she clarified, "Eventually. But… I want them to at least be older, before they learn that their mother was a prostitute."

I… could honestly say I wasn't expecting this. Still…

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." She smiled. "Maybe with your smarts you could even tutor them a bit? God knows they need it."

Hah. I could almost laugh at that. Zack Cabrera, slayer of men, killer of mooks, breaker of heroes – Middle School Tutor Extraordinaire.

I chuckled. It'd make for one hell of a story. Naomi saw my chuckle and mistook it for acceptance of the situation, and somehow, I just rolled with it.

"Just wait right here –"

It didn't take long for her to come back, with two people walking beside her. A young boy, Lucian, with short, messy black hair, a pair of glasses, and wearing a simple checkered button-up shirt, a sweater and a pair of jeans. Then, a girl, who appeared the same age, with longer black hair combed into a ponytail, wearing a frilly purple skirt with a pair of striped stockings, and a jean jacket. What drew my attention the most about her was her name –

 **Evelyn Brooks**

Evelyn. Huh.

"So, Lucian, Evelyn – I'd like you to meet someone. He's… kind of closely related, but not really. His mom was someone that was like a sister to me – but she passed away years ago. This is Isaac Cabrera – but you can call him Zack."

Children. I'd never interacted with them. I didn't remember interacting with them. Not in my previous life, considering I had no memories of my previous life to begin with, and in this life, I did not quite have a 'normal' upbringing. But, children were people, they had desires and wants and were slightly the same as adults, if just slightly unable to grasp higher vocabulary and conceptualize certain ideas.

So, when Lucian began sizing me up, I could already tell that he was questioning what someone my age was doing with his mother, evaluating me, judging me – and he sent me a look which was supposed to be intimidating, but was somewhat funny, considering that a round-faced thirteen year old had nothing on Superman's glare.

Of course, I could read him like an open book, and I moved forward, bending slightly to reach his height, before grinning.

"Want to see a cool magic trick?"

I didn't let him respond, instead, I showed him my hands. "Empty." Then, I rubbed them together, shooting them behind my back, and then I brought them back, forward, and in its place, a quick use of **Alteration** with a card from my inventory had me creating an item –

"Ta-da!"

His eyes immediately lit up, particularly as he spotted the now extremely life-like miniaturized version of a fighter-jet that had appeared in my hands.

"Woah!"

"Would you like to have it?"

"Duh! Yeah!" Excitement overcame his face as I kept the miniature jet in his hand, and he began examining it with the literal exuberance of a child given a new toy.

Naomi's gaze was one that was equally surprised, as she shot me a 'how did you do that' look. I gave a coy smirk and a nonchalant 'who-knows' shrug in return, before I turned my eyes to Evelyn.

I analyzed her in seconds, determining her approach, and I merely went with a simple disarming smile.

"And what is the name of the pretty lady in front of me?"

"Uh… I'm… E-Evelyn."

"So, Evelyn –" I gave her a conspiring look, "Just between you and me," I whispered, putting my hand exaggeratedly to my mouth to try and 'hide' what I was saying.

"I think your mom is trying to steal your look."

She glanced at me, and back to her mom, before snickering. "I think so too."

I nodded sagely. "She doesn't have the youth to pull it off though – it's almost sad."

She snorted again, before outright giggling. For some weird reason, both Lucian and Naomi looked at me as though I had made the devil repent.

"Oh? Evelyn, I didn't know you could _giggle._ "

Ah… that was probably why.

I supposed it was about time for my handsome looks to actually get used for something, although, making a thirteen year old have a crush on me with but a few words was not entirely my intention.

"I – I wasn't giggling!"

"Of course you weren't!"

"I wasn't!"

"I know, and I'm supporting you."

"Gaah! Mom!"

I almost laughed at the sight. Puffed up cheeks, flustered face and wide eyes – the features, so well formed, the hair, blowing in the wind, the clothes ruffling, with creases forming in all appropriate areas. A scent of perfume and natural combinations of hormones – a distinct voice and manner of speaking –

She felt so… _real_.

They all felt so… real.

How… why… why did they feel so real?

Just the three of them felt more real than the entirety of Gotham, more real than Superman or Batman or Batgirl – made me forget, momentarily, that this whole world was someone's imagination. The complexity of design, in which I saw in these beings that should not exist, but existed purely as a result of my interference, and this being – was… real.

How could something real be created in a world that was fake?

"Um…" she looked flustered "You're staring."

"I am… aren't I?"

"Evelyn's got a cru~ush~!" Lucian sang.

"Shut up Lucian!" she hissed, the flustered expression on her face doubling.

I merely chuckled at the interaction between the siblings, turning to look at Naomi as she gave me a strange look. I was technically sixteen, and her daughter was thirteen – it didn't take a genius for me to figure out what her 'look' meant. It wasn't my fault, however, and she'd been the one to insist I stayed.

"All right, all right, Lucian, stop teasing your sister – Evelyn, stop staring at your… uncle, and get in – we need to get home before curfew."

"Will Isaac be joining us for dinner?"

"Hmm... I'm not sure. Will _he?_ "

I looked to the girl's expression, to the mother's expression, and the boy's expression, and I sighed.

"I guess he will."

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

"No, no – you're _my_ guest – I can't let you do the cooking –"

"No, I'm _family_ remember? So you sit back and relax and watch me work my magic."

Naomi's home was something far more generous than what I thought a single mother would be capable of affording. For one, it was an actual _home_ , that is, a house, in one of the relatively nicer neighborhoods of Gotham City, and not an apartment complex in the East End. My main theory behind her wealth was that she had saved a large percentage of the money she had during her 'work' and put it together to be capable of affording this place.

It was certainly spacious, four bedrooms and two baths, a nice kitchen with plenty of space for the dining area to fit in snugly, and a homey little living room with a small television.

Considering that I'd seen her working as a clerk in a small supermarket, sure, a _good_ looking supermarket in a relatively respectable part of town – it didn't quite add up as to how she seemed so… well to do. Or, maybe it was just my general skepticism and a _maybe_ a small part of envy in me at seeing Naomi capable of doing something that Eva couldn't.

Was it so hard for me to believe that someone could clean up their act, change, and become a much better person?

Yes, it was.

"Sigh… all right – all right – how about a compromise? I _help_ you out with the cooking?"

"I've got a better one. How about, I do all the cooking, and in exchange – you wash all the dishes?"

Arguing it out with me was an exercise in futility, and she merely let out a slightly exasperated breath, although, I could see the slight hesitation and wariness in her eyes at letting me cook. I suppose I would be wary too – actually, no, I'd most likely have barred any strangers from my kitchen, so I supposed Naomi was just far more trusting than I was.

I turned my attention over to the kitchen, closing my eyes, and letting a small chuckle escape my lips. **Homestyle Cooking** had been maxed out for years – and I'd never used it. I never thought I'd even have to use that skill again.

Yet, everything came to me, with dexterity and flourish, I twirled equipment in my hands, spun knives and placed chopping boards, diced, sliced, cut, simmered, fried, and let myself get completely lost in the creation process. I'd taken stock of their inventory, and taken stock of what I had available and decided to create whatever meal I could throw together and see what became of it.

Less than two minutes after I had begun my process, I became distinctively aware of the fact that I had an audience.

"Whoa…" Lucian whispered "Mom… either Zack's really good at cooking… or you seriously suck."

I heard the woman in question clear her throat. "Well then, maybe you'll ask _Zack_ to pack your lunches from now on, hmm?"

"Uhh… forget I said anything."

I ignored the proud smirk that was threatening to spill out of my lips in exchange of giving more of a show, tossing up several vegetables and onions into the air, and then twirling the kitchen knife in my hand, bringing it down in a flash, and dicing it all up into _exactly_ perfect cubes.

Naomi grumbled. "Okay… _now_ you're just showing off."

I turned to the woman and grinned. "I don't know what you're talking about – this is just basic cooking – anyone can do it."

"Not mom – she usually cuts her finger once a month just trying to peel the onions." Lucian quipped. "And there are also a lot of tears involved. Blood, and tears, and sweat – a _lot_."

I saw her right eye twitch. "Lucian dear?"

"Yes mom?"

"I think I heard your sister get stuck in the bathroom again."

"Really? I don't think –"

"Go. Help. Your. Sister."

I snickered at the interaction, before I turned my attention back to the food – making sure to time it properly and ensure the proper richness of taste. Already, the entire house was filled with the rich aroma of spices and flavors – an aroma which I had actually forgot existed.

It was strange… for the longest time I'd been so focused on destroying the Justice League – believing it to be the way to attain some sort of satisfaction and pleasure in life, but in the process, I'd abandoned all the small things – even in a world as fake as this. Even the adventurers that had been stuck in SAO had stopped now and then to gaze at the scenery, enjoy a good meal or just sleep under the sunlight – and they were in a death game with a race against the clock.

Me?

There was no clock.

There was no deadline.

All of it was just self-imposed – and I'd sacrificed the minor comforts in life in some attempt to gain a perceived greater one.

Nezumi was right. I really needed this – didn't I?

"Okay, I _have_ to ask – how in the world can you cook so good?"

"Well."

She rose an eyebrow.

"How can I cook so 'well'." I corrected.

She rolled her eyes. "Grammar Nazis – everywhere you go." She shook her head, smiling. "Alright, how in the world can you cook so _well_?"

"Practice mostly," I said with a shrug. "Spend hours at it every day, for several years, and you'll learn a thing or two. Cooking is basically the artistic form of chemistry anyway – so measuring spices, perceiving flavors, and watching how different components react together to a particular effect was easy for me." I tapped at my forehead and gave her a wink.

She folded her arms, leaning against a kitchen counter. "Super-intelligence?"

"Something like that."

"That's _so_ cheating."

"You have _no_ idea."

She laughed, and I couldn't help the smile which came up to my lips at that. As The Gamer, I _was_ cheating – cheating in every way and every manner that counted, and using whatever methods I had to make sure I rose to the top. Somehow, now, at this moment, all of it felt so… irrelevant.

"So," Naomi began "Where have you been all these years?"

I put on my best **Act** and allowed the words to flow from my lips like they were the gospel truth. "I bounced around from foster home to foster home for a while, but I never stayed in one place too long. I couldn't… I guess. I lived on the streets for a while… I stole for a while… I got mixed up with some bad gangs here and there who wanted to use my talents… it… wasn't pretty."

"Oh – Isaac – I'm – I'm so sorry – I didn't know."

I gave a nonchalant shrug. "It's okay – you had your life to deal with and your problems – and I doubted you'd be the last person to take in a kid like me."

She frowned. "Isaac – I'm not –"

I rose one hand in surrender. "I wasn't implying anything." _I wasn't calling you a pedophile_. "I'm just saying, with your… past _job_ , it wouldn't have been for the best."

I turned back to the meal, making sure it cooked properly.

"Besides, it's all for the best. Now, you're doing great, you have two nice kids, a great house, and a job…" I tethered off. "…Though… this house _is_ kind of good… way too good for a Convenience store clerk's salary."

She gave an awkward laugh. "I kind of get that a lot." Her feet shuffled slightly. "You probably think I slept my way to get this house don't you?"

"I didn't say that."

"Well… you were thinking it."

"Actually I was thinking that you have some extra jobs on the side, or you got this house rather cheap, or it belonged to a relative and was inherited." I quipped dryly. "Not everything has to do with your past as a whore."

She cringed slightly, awkwardly rubbing her elbow. "Well, you were right about that. I work four jobs on alternating shifts, and this house did belong to someone – my boyfriend, Lucian and Evelyn's father."

I nodded, coming to an understanding.

"How'd he die?"

"Bank robbery," she said bitterly, "Intergang. He was a cashier at the bank when they showed up – and – and –"

"You don't have to tell me," I murmured. "If it's too much – to handle."

She smiled. "Thank you."

The sound of sizzling spices echoed softly in the room.

"So... you lived on the streets, and you stole for a while?"

I smirked. "Don't worry, I'm not going to burgle you."

She rose her hands "No - no, heavens no – that's not what I meant. I mean…" she hesitated "That lifestyle… it… it must have been hard, on you – being so young." She sighed. "You must have seen things and… done things…"

I rose an eyebrow, not sure where she was going with this.

"Evelyn and Lucian – they – they were outside, when the massacre happened. They saw a group of men – watched them die, their hearts –" she stopped. "I think it'll scar them. They tell me that they're fine but… but… _you can't just watch someone's heart tear out of their chest and be fine!_ " she hissed.

Part of me, wondered, idly, what she'd do, if she knew I was the one responsible for that?

"I don't know whether I should take them for some sort of therapy or counselling or something – I don't even know if I can _afford_ it – I'm not sure if doing it will help them or just make them push me away – so – I don't… I don't know." She took in a deep breath, rubbing her hands down her face. "They won't talk to me about it… but… even though they don't know you well enough – I think they like you – and you're much closer in age to them, so maybe – maybe you can _help_ them?"

"Help them?" I repeated, "Help them how?"

"I don't know… just – listen to them – try to do stuff for them, or be an elder brother figure?" She paused, almost as though realizing what she was asking of me. "I-I'm sorry – pushing all of this on to you – I'm sure you have your own problems and issues to deal with and I'm just selfishly asking this of you –"

She took a seat, burying her hands into her face.

"They don't have any major male authority figures in their lives – and I try, I try my best – but I can't be _that_." She turned her gaze back to me. "Between my jobs taking up nearly all my time just so I can have enough money to pay the bills and buy groceries, and my _past_ , I haven't even considered dating – and let's not even talk of getting married. Very few men would want to be a father to children that aren't his – so… they're missing _something_. Something important – and this is so selfish of me to ask but if you could just _try_ to be that missing piece, or something _close_ to it –"

What was I supposed to say? That she was asking the wrong person? That she had no clue as to the fact that she wanted a serial killer and murderer to be the responsible male adult in her children's lives?

"I'm not exactly 'role model' material." I said slowly "Putting me in charge of children would be the most questionable thing anyone can do. Aunt Pu – Naomi, I've done a _lot_ of things… things that you possibly can't imagine."

Somehow, this only seemed to _increase_ her determination.

"That's why _you're_ the right choice," she stressed "You and me _both_ know how dark and horrible this City is. We've both experienced the worst parts of it – but they – they don't know. They're not aware – and I don't know how I can preserve their innocence, and make them aware of the world's harsh realities at the same time."

She took in a deep breath, her voice dropping.

"I don't know how I can do it, without telling them what I was. Without making my own children look at me like I'm… _filth_."

I sighed. So much power at my fingertips – so much – and at this moment, there wasn't truly anything I could do that would solve her problem. Well, nothing short of giving her a hundred million at least, but even then, money wouldn't make the problem go away – it'd just make it vanish to the background in lieu of enough distractions.

Instinctively, I was aware that it didn't matter – her life, short as it was, would end sooner or later, her problems and fears and worries were worthless in a world where she was not the central character. All of it would be meaningless, and in the end, her soul would either be sent to this world's fictional heaven or hell – so, her problems and complains shouldn't bother me.

Except… it did.

She felt real. Right here, right now, in this moment – I was not looking at a fictional character –

I was looking at the woman who'd sat me on her lap as a child and taught me to read –

And she was pleading for my help.

What kind of monster would I be, to turn her down?

"Alright."

She looked up to me, eyes wide.

"Just call me… Uncle Zacky."

 **New Family Quest!**

 **Quest Tree Unlocked!**

 **The Things We Do For Love** **–** **Part I**

 **A chance encounter with Aunty Purity aka Naomi Brooks – the stripper and prostitute from your earliest childhood, as brought about her desperate plea for help in taking care of her two children, and putting them on the right (or wrong) track of life.**

 **It is up to your tender guiding hands to make sure they become successful, upstanding members of society, or perhaps, the most sociopathic, manipulative, deviant criminal minds ever witnessed by history.**

 **Main Objectives:-**

 **Good Path:**

 **Comfort Lucian and Evelyn about their experiences with the Gotham City Massacre**

 **Help them come to terms with any underlying issues**

 **Explain to them the evil of the world, and how to be better than it**

 **Evil Path:**

 **Confront Lucian and Evelyn about what they saw and what they taught of it**

 **Aid them in finding a method of 'release'**

 **Show them the evil of the world, and how to master it for their benefit**

 **Rewards:**

 **Increased Closeness with the Brooks Family**

 **Increased Reputation with the Brooks Family**

 **Re-establishment of the Cabrera Crime Family**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Failure**

 **Death of Naomi, Lucian, and/or Evelyn Brooks**

For once, I'd actually like a quest where the consequences of failure did _not_ include death – but of course, things wouldn't be interesting if that were the case.

"Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

She barreled into me in a hug, and I let out a small frown. It would be beyond hypocritical of me to go for the good path, my hands, as they were, were stained with blood, and my very soul was an instrument of suffering – or something emo like that.

She was essentially thanking me for turning her children into deadly criminals and monsters of society –

She just didn't know it yet.


	13. Opening Move

**Finally got back to this. Whoo - God damn Procrastination and fucking stupid writers' block. Who's laughing now eh chump? WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?!**

 **Me. That's who.**

 **Anyway - on the issue of Zack becoming soft, I have only one thing to say:**

 **Blondi.**

 **Nuff said. You can google it up or whatever, or you may understand immediately, in which case, you're a random trivia nut like me - but meh, whatever.**

 **Oh, and here is an extra special shout-out to the user, Raven Blanchard, who loved this story so much he/she went out of their way to make a book cover for it. Damn, sir/madam - You rock! Never thought I'd ever get fan-art of... anything really. Like damn - I feel so loved. I'd love to use it as the official cover for this story - if of course - you don't mind.**

 **Anyway - let's get back to the story.**

* * *

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

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 _Clap._

"Make it stop! For the love of god, please make it stop!"

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

John Richardson grit his teeth in annoyance. In comparison to most of the criminals around him who were nearly on the brink of insanity, he would claim that he was one of the patient ones. Honestly, he hated this. He hated this job – being a jailer and security guard at Arkham Asylum, a.k.a. the Home of the Criminal Boogeymen. He hadn't always hated the job, but ever since the Gotham Massacre, he could not help but despise it.

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

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 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

The Gotham Massacre – that was where it all started. The Night of Bloody Hearts. The Disheartening. The Red Night. So many names given to one event. John couldn't care less about any of them. No, what he instead cared about, was the fact that numerous of his fellow co-workers had died that night. Well, along with a swooping majority of the city's police force. What did that mean? It meant extra shifts for him. It meant working overtime with no realistic expectation of extra pay. It meant that Arkham was effectively _incredibly_ understaffed and did not have the manpower needed to properly soothe any escape attempts or riots should they occur.

It meant they were all lying on a bed, their ass held high and lubricated, waiting patiently for the massive dick that would shove in, to make them well and truly fucked.

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

As if that fact wasn't enough to put everyone on edge, there was… the _freak_. Day in, day out, twenty-four hours nonstop – ever since he had heard about the Gotham Massacre, all he had done –

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

"Honestly, if someone doesn't shut that damned clown up – I'll find a way to cut off his arms myself!"

John paid no heed to the disgruntled comment of one of the inmates, because he too, had been considering it. Yet, he knew why he could not do so. The cell of the man in question, small as it was, had the man sitting there, in his orange overalls, his face a plain, expressionless one, his skin, chalky white, his hair, bright green, and his hands –

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

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 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

John ignored the urge to shudder. Of course the maniac would applaud the massacre of over three thousand people. In one night, The Consultant had probably killed as many people as he had in his entire criminal career. Probably. John didn't know how many people the psychopath had killed. He didn't _want_ to know. All he wanted to do, was finish this extended shift of his, and go back home to his girlfriend. Gods, he'd need a cold shower and a shit ton of booze to get the sound of the clapping and the face of the green haired monster out of his mind.

"I'm here to relieve you of your post."

John immediately perked up at those words. Finally, he could look forward to a passionate session with his girlfriend earlier than he expected. "Alright ma –" he paused, staring intently at the person who had come to take over. The way he carried himself, the fact that his uniform was new – _too new_ , and the realization that he had never seen this person in his life gave him pause.

"Hold up – I haven't seen you here before."

The minute made that statement, John regretted it. He knew, he was supposed to do his job. Yet, he was no fool. He'd watched enough movies and television to realize what happened when a guard realized that there was something suspicious about another guard. Normally he would dismiss it as fiction, but this was a world where superhuman beings existed – fiction was closer to reality than normal. He should have just ignored the suspicion – he should have simply left. Tanisha, his girlfriend, had the most amazing thighs, and she had a tongue trick that always got him. He should have thought of that – thought of never getting to experience that again before he spoke.

"No. No you haven't."

John swallowed.

He was no Cowboy. No superhero. Quick draws had never been his specialty. He couldn't do anything – not a single thing, as the hollow bang of a silenced gun echoed softly, and his brain barely registered the subsonic projectile that ripped through the dead center of his forehead.

The human brain could only maintain consciousness for about four seconds after a headshot. In those four seconds, John thought about a lot of things. His girlfriend, his brother, his pet dog, Timmy. A lot went through his mind, the final one being recognition, as he now knew who his killer was. It was hard not to, considering his face was one of the most wanted in the world.

He could not help but wonder, why Floyd Lawton of all people broke into Arkham Asylum.

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

 _Clap._

"Well now! Isn't this interesting…?"

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **6:43 AM**

Had she asked too much of him?

Naomi thought it over, after a rather unsatisfying night of rest and sleep. She couldn't help the inherently guilty sensation dwelling in the pit of her stomach. The boy probably didn't even go to school, he had been living on the streets, and didn't seem to have any form of stability in his life. Had it really been a wise decision to put someone like that into her life? Was it wise to force any form of responsibility unto him?

She woke up that morning, glanced at her reflection at the bathroom mirror, ran her hand through her head and let out a sigh. She grabbed the toothpaste and toothbrush, going to work on the morning essentials, her mind still deep in thought. She'd offered him the 'guest room' to sleep in, but he'd politely declined and chose the living room couch. She knew, and he knew as well, that the reason he declined was because the 'guest room' had actually been her boyfriend's – before he passed away.

The room was meticulously well-kept despite this, and he had merely taken a single glance to the inside before declining. She wondered if it was because he was trying to be courteous or if there was something else involved – but she wasn't too sure.

That summed up most of her thoughts about him. _She wasn't sure._

In a bid of desperation, she'd made that demand because she felt that she knew him. Because she saw someone from her past, and she felt guilty. Guilty about what she did to him, guilty about what happened to his mother even though she could have done nothing to change it, guilty about never trying to find him –

Now, she was feeling guilty about putting responsibility unto him when he most likely had other things to do.

She turned off the running water, wiping the residue of the liquids from her mouth with a towel, before frowning at her reflection in the mirror. Somehow, the years hadn't been unkind to her, despite everything. She was lucky in that regard – being one of those odd people who had made terrible decisions and life choices, and managed to evade without outwardly disastrous consequences. Still, her eyes possessed a particular quality to them that did not speak of happiness or enjoyment. Bags under her eyes were often present from overworking, and they'd almost become a staple feature of her face. Her hair was frazzled and unkempt, and she did the bare minimum to keep them looking presentable.

For a brief second, the image in the mirror overlapped with something else. Younger, fuller lips, thick make-up, bleached-blonde hair –

She shook her head. Those days were gone. They were far behind her.

Now, she had two children to wake up and drive off to school before heading off to work.

"Awesome!"

The shout brought her to a rather sharp stop. Lucian was awake? At this time? No – that wasn't possible. She sighed. She hoped he hadn't pulled another all-nighter reading comic books again. She left the bathroom, only to pause at the pleasant smell of food wafting in the air. It smelt like bacon – rich, juicy bacon –

She immediately clambered down the stairs, still wearing her pajamas, she rose her eyebrow as the aroma got stronger, and so did the sound of noise and chatter. She reached the kitchen, and immediately paused at the scene in front of her.

Zack was pulling what seemed to be a balancing act, standing on one leg in the kitchen, with different plates, pots and pans stacked, held on his hands, his foot, his arms, and even his nose.

"Like I said – the trick is all in the mind."

Her children were present. _Awake_. Oh, not just awake – they looked fully dressed for school. She stared at the scene before her with no words able to leave her mouth.

"Now, for the fantastic finish –"

With a twirl that showed agility Naomi could never have dreamed Zack possessed, nearly all the plates soared into the air. She wanted to scream – until he moved deftly, catching each and every one of the plates with his right hand, spinning his body again, and then hitting the pan on the fire, before tossing two plates into the air like discs.

The two plates slid perfectly unto the table, immediately afterwards, two eggs and a large piece of bacon landed on each plate, forming a perfect smiley-face. At that same time, the toaster dinged, and two decently made slices of toast were flung forward and managed to land on the plates without shifting a single thing.

She couldn't help how her jaw lowered, and then proceeded to lower even further when the tossed the milk jug into the air, and spun two glasses unto the table like he was a ninja sliding shuriken. Milk soared into the air, pouring into both glasses, before he grabbed it from the air, and closed it – and not a single drop spilled anywhere.

With one more twirl, he spun all the dishes in his right hand back into their positions on the shelves, and then, he took a long bow.

The room was dead silent.

"THAT WAS THE COOLEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN!"

The silence was immediately broken by her son's excited scream. Naomi could only shake her head at Lucian's enthusiasm, even though she found that sentiment to be entirely true.

"DUDE!" Lucian said hopping in his seat giddily "You're like – those super butlers and chefs I see on TV! I didn't even know half of that was possible!"

Evelyn seemed to agree, although, she didn't vocalize her own thoughts.

"The secret is all in the wrists," he said coyly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Wrist movement and timing."

"Can you teach me? Can you? Canyoucanyoucanyou –"

"Hmm… I don't know." Zack put his finger to his chin, leaning back on the counter and making his best impression of someone deep in thought, "If you eat up your breakfast and get to school early, I _might_ consider showing you a few tricks."

It was the fastest Naomi had ever seen her children dive into a plate of food. The sight was enough to make her laugh, to make her laugh audibly, and immediately draw everyone's attentions on to her.

"Mom – you're awake!" Lucian said, "Zack was showing us some kitchen tricks! You missed it! It was amazing! There were plates and eggs and toast soaring into the air and –"

"Ah – ah." Zack interrupted. "Table manners kid. No eating and talking at the same time."

Naomi almost wanted to sigh. She'd been trying to get Lucian to remember that for the longest time. Of course, as always, he'd just ignore the advice and continue…

"Oh – sorry." He said sheepishly.

Naomi stared. She stared at her son who had instead focused back on his breakfast, and then she whipped her attention over to the dark-haired pony-tailed boy responsible for that miracle. He didn't even seem to realize what he had done, and was instead… packing up… lunch?

"You – you made them lunches?"

He turned his gaze to her. "Yeah. I figured I'd help you out with a few stuff – after what we talked about yesterday. So… I made breakfast and packed up their lunches."

"No – I understand, I meant –" she didn't know how to explain it.

"Hope I'm not intruding or anything – Lucian said you wouldn't mind if I made them lunches in your place."

She snapped her gaze to the boy in question, who had gone very still in his seat. "He did now, didn't he?"

"Yes…" Zack said, his left eyebrow quirking "…And I get the feeling there's something going on here that I'm not in on. You usually make them lunches… right?"

She cringed at the question. He probably hadn't mean to phrase it that way, but the underlying meaning was still there.

"No," Evelyn said flatly, speaking up for the first time. "Mom usually just gives us some money and we buy whatever we can get in the cafeteria. Lucian lied. We've never taken a homemade lunch to school before."

"Oh." Zack seemed to cough awkwardly into his hand. "Ah – but at least breakfast –"

"Corn flakes, every morning." Evelyn said. "If we're lucky, we get the Frosties version or maybe some burnt toast and eggs."

"Shut up Evelyn!" Lucian snapped.

"What? It's the truth and you know it! Mom's always either too tired or too much in a hurry in the morning to ever make anything good!" She snapped back.

"It's not her fault! You know she's trying her best!"

"Well her best isn't good enough!" She yelled. "It's _never_ been good enough!"

The room went silent.

"I can't believe my sister is such an ungrateful bitch."

"What did you call me?!"

No one could be certain of who had thrown the first punch. But, it didn't matter, as two bodies crashed into each other, punching, clawing and biting.

* * *

 **XXXX**

* * *

Had I caused this?

"Lucian! Evelyn! That's enough!"

My cheeks twitched as I watched the squabble between children. It took me a considerable effort not to laugh at it. At this. At all of it. I never once thought a day would come where I would witness something like this – something so – so – funny.

A squabble between siblings. It felt familiar, yet completely foreign. I had no family in this world, and I could not remember my family from my old world. Had I also had a brother with excitable traits? A blunt sister? I did not know, and there was no way I would ever find out.

"Alright – I think that's enough."

It was literally child's play for me to move forward and separate the both of them. I held them both by the scruffs of their shirts, Lucian to my left, and Evelyn to my right. The momentary silence that filled the room was courtesy of the fact that I could hold two thirteen year olds in my hands as though they were feathers, and I merely shrugged, raising my hands higher until both of their feet were clear off the floor.

"Have you both cooled down?" I asked. They were either too angry, or too suffering too much indignation, to respond with anything other than side-thrown glances, as if there were an elephant in fishnet stockings present. Anything to avoid looking me in the face.

In this situation, I did not know who to pity the most. Naomi was looking torn, unable to decide if a punishment was necessary, or whether handing out any form of punishment would further acerbate the situation. Lucian seemed to be on his mother's side, valiantly supporting her even though he knew that Evelyn had a point. It seemed more or less like he was trying to deny the truth than he was attempting to defend his mother.

Evelyn on the other hand, was clearly dissatisfied with the life she'd been living. She was dissatisfied, and she wanted to express that dissatisfaction, to let it out and transform it into blame. And of course, who else was to blame but Naomi?

"Put me down!" Lucian said, struggling to be set free.

"Are you going to try and Batista-bomb your sister if I do that?" I asked, "Because if you both want to find new ways to give yourself epic scars, I can tell you – a brawl is not it."

I gestured to their faces, with Lucian was sporting several red marks courtesy of Evelyn's nails, and Evelyn had a few nasty bruises.

"Thank you, Isaac – you can put them down now."

I rose an eyebrow at her, to ask _are you sure?_

She gave me a firm look and I shrugged. Fine, she could have it her way. Both children landed to the ground with very soft thuds, and both grumbling, with Lucian turning a sharp gaze my way.

"Dude, are you a gorilla or something? How are you so strong?"

"Spinach." I said dryly. "It comes in a special can, and can give you super-strength when you eat it."

As I expected, the reference flew completely over his head.

"I can't believe the two of you would just –" Naomi said, shaking her head as she held on to Lucian. "You're siblings. _Twins_. You're not supposed to fight each other –"

Actually, I thought that was mostly what family was about… fighting each other.

"She started it – you heard what she was saying –"

"I was just saying the truth!" Evelyn yelled, growing more incensed "Just because you go around ignoring it and pretending everything's fine doesn't mean I can!"

This was getting more amusing by the second. Or perhaps it was my twisted sense of amusement that was to blame?

"Evelyn that's enough!" Naomi said sternly, "Not one more word from you. Not another one."

The girl bit her lip. "Of course you'd take his side."

"I'm not taking anyone's side – and where do you think you're going?"

I watched as the girl turned around and grabbed her bag.

"Evelyn! I'm talking to you! I'm still talking to you – don't you dare –"

The sound of the door slamming echoed all over the house.

Lucian snorted. "Good riddance."

"Lucian!" Naomi scolded.

"What? All she ever does is complain and complain. She never tries to actually _fix_ anything – she just complains about it!"

"That's not an attitude you should have – she's your sister, Lucian."

The boy merely let out another annoyed snort. He then cursed silently as he touched the mark on the side of his face.

"I need to go sanitize this before I catch any of her bitchiness."

"Lucian you shouldn't call your sister a –"

The boy was already gone, his footsteps slowly receding up the staircase. It was only Naomi and I left in the dining area. There was only one word which could escape my lips.

"Wow."

She grimaced. "I'm sorry – you had to see all of that."

"You weren't kidding when you said you needed some help."

She winced. She winced and immediately went silent. Was that the wrong thing to have said? She already admitted needing help – and I already agreed to it – so why was she upset if I pointed out an already established fact?

Jesus… people are complicated.

… Since when were people so complicated?

 **Quest Progression!**

 **The Things We Do For Love – Part I**

 **Current Objectives: -**

 **[Good Path] Follow Evelyn and make sure she's okay**

 **[Evil Path] Follow Evelyn and help her 'blow' off some steam**

 **Or**

 **[Good Path] Talk with Lucian and help him calm down**

 **[Evil Path] Talk with Lucian and help him 'use' his anger**

 **Or**

 **[Good Path] Comfort Naomi**

 **[Evil Path] "Comfort" Naomi**

 **Note: You may only select one choice.**

 **Alternatively:**

 **You may choose to select none of the above choices and do whatever you wish by selecting:**

 **[The Third Path]**

 **Your actions and/or inactions will progress the Quest accordingly, and will have major benefits and/or consequences later on.**

This…. was new.

The world had frozen around me – turning a dull grey color with overlapping sepia tones, as though the entire world was somehow made of concrete, and then filtered out by a teenage girl with a social media app.

My mind was filled with several questions, such as how and why the Gamer system was suddenly choosing to be more active in quest progression. It hadn't done this when I'd completed any prior quests? So what made this different? Also, who, or what, designed this morality system? Just Good and Evil, and nothing in-between? I supposed they expected me to do whatever I wanted if I wasn't satisfied with the limitations, hence 'The Third Path' option.

I couldn't move. Likewise, I couldn't use any spells or skills, yet, the world remained completely frozen – frozen until I made a choice.

I pursed my lips and shook my head at this chaos. Family conflict was confusing. There was no one that was a hundred percent wrong or a hundred percent right – but because Lucian sided naturally with his mother, it made Evelyn feel like the outcast here. Naomi didn't know what to do – and I couldn't blame her. _I_ wasn't quite sure what I would do if I was in her shoes.

Would I tell off Evelyn, and tell her to try harder and to suck it up? Would I tell her that life was not fair and the sooner she got used to that concept the better? Would I have made an excuse? Would I have punished her – for speaking the truth? Does the manner in which you say something matter more than what is said?

I didn't know. It annoyed me than I cared to admit, this slight irritation of not knowing something that was supposed to be so trivial. Not knowing what to do to mend a conflict of opinions between siblings.

The more I thought it over, the more I grew annoyed. How in the world was it, that I could think of a way to end a criminal organization and nearly all organized crime in a city, within a span of a few hours, but I came up blank with ideas to help mend an argument between two thirteen-year-olds?

I formulated plans to eliminate the world of superheroes and the Justice League – and I can't think of a way to make two kids see each other's point of view without being biased to either side?

 **Follow Evelyn Selected!**

The world's color returned in a snap.

"I think I should try and find Evelyn before she gets too far," the words flew from my mouth with ease "She had some bruises on her face… I don't think it's a good idea to let her go to school with it and give people the wrong ideas."

Naomi's eyes widened and she immediately understood what "the wrong ideas" could be.

"That would be… for the best."

I didn't say anything, but I did tip my head to a slight nod as I turned my direction towards the door. I willed my minimap to flare to life, and I almost blinked when I eventually found the blue dot on the map that indicated an ally. It was mobile, and it was moving fast.

"She's passed three blocks already? What the hell?"

How many minutes had passed since she slammed the door? It couldn't be up to ten minutes yet. I didn't waste any time as I chased after her. Speed was not a problem, and although I was no Barry Allen, I was reasonably fast when I wanted to be. The problem was following the dot on the map, which I now realized, was passing through buildings or small alleyways, which meant that she was taking a shortcut.

Where exactly was she heading anyway?

 _If I were a teenage girl, who just had an argument with family, where would I go to cool my head?_

I adjusted the mini-map.

"Of course."

 _A knockoff Starbucks._

* * *

DC – Remastered Edition

* * *

Nezumi was rarely ever stumped.

The Demon Butler clearly did not see the need for one to possess such a sentiment or emotion. Of what reason would he be perplexed to a state of inactivity? Surely, the surprises which came in the course of existing, were, in most cases, predictable or refreshing.

However, the significant exception, was when he became aware of the fact that he may have accidentally tapped into his Master's reality altering powers without realizing it. He had merely been conducting the necessary elements needed to create the army of Homunculi his master needed, tapping into his mass reserves of mana, all of which, of course, was as a result of absorbing and consuming the souls and flesh of countless of demonic beings and minions for thousands upon thousands of years. The most recent additions, the mage and the rhyming demon, had provided a significant boost to his powers. This was to be expected, however, what was not to be expected, was the sudden appearance of a spiritual figure in a white robe, when he began to draw on Etrigan's magic.

What was even _more_ surprising, was the fact that words were floating over this spiritual figure's head.

 **Arch-Sorcerer**

 **Merlin**

Hence, this was the reason, that Nezumi found himself uncharacteristically stumped.

"How – is this – how has such a demonic presence gained the ability to invoke me?"

Invoke?

Ah. Of course. The Demon Etrigan could call upon the spirit of Merlin to perform grand mystical feats, and now that he had consumed the demon and his powers, this ability had transferred to him.

Nezumi bowed. "Great Sorcerer – may I ask –"

Merlin, stared, confounded at the manners present in what was clearly a demonic entity.

"I have never met a being such as yourself. What is it you wish to ask?"

Nezumi rose. "Is it true that you are perhaps, one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful wizard to ever exist?"

"Yes… what of it?"

"Are you, right now, present as a soul, or merely a corporeal visage?"

Merlin frowned. "It is my soul which stands before you demon."

"And is it not true, Great Sorcerer that you are half demon?"

Merlin looked agitated. "Yes – now is there a purpose for this trifling questions?"

Nezumi nodded, and then closed his eyes.

"Your power would aid me in my service to my master."

" _Your_ master?"

Nezumi nodded.

Merlin scoffed. "And what makes you believe I will aid you or your master, demon?"

"Because –"

Nezumi blurred forward, mouth enlarging to demonic capabilities as he bit off the entire lower 'body' of Merlin's soul, leaving only the head.

"You do not have a choice."

"YOU FOUL –"

"Shut up wizard. You taste disgusting enough, I do not need your words polluting my meal any further."

Merlin could only stare, in disbelief, as the creature proceeded to _slurp_ down his very soul as though it were a noodle meal.

"W-w-what are you?"

No answer was given, until every last drop of Merlin's presence was gone, and Nezumi promptly let out a quiet burp.

"A mere butler."

Suitably satisfied with his work, Nezumi sorted through the eons of memories, discarding those deemed worthless, and picking through the spells and magical repertoire. Then, he found what he was looking for.

" **Ultimate Magic: Mass Create False Life: Homunculi.** "

The butler rose his hand, pausing slightly. His master needed effectiveness and ultimate loyalty above all others – but at the same time, he needed a group of warriors who could operate in the modern world with deadly efficiency and efficacy. Mindless drones would be both highly useful and likewise immensely counter-intuitive to this process.

He needed a model – a model for which all the Homunculi would be based upon, and from which he would then begin to ensure their absolute loyalty to his master. This model, of course, had to be a human, a suitably talented or otherwise skilled human. He rapidly sifted through the memories of all the beings he had absorbed in the years, trying to find insight to what he should utilize as a template. Failing that, he searched through his own memories and the memories his master had bestowed upon him, to find an ideal human, fictional or otherwise, that would be his default template.

After a few seconds – he came across one – from a fictional show that his master had enjoyed, and had imparted upon him with the knowledge.

" **Personality Template: Golgo 13.** "

Despite his massive magic reserves, Nezumi could feel the significant drain on it, which was to be expected, considering he was making artificial lives with no souls, and he was doing so with nothing but pure magic – no elements, foci, or tubes required. Just pure, _unbridled_ magic rewriting the world, creating and manifesting bones and flesh from the ambient air. It started from what seemed like an army of skeletons, rising from the sand of the large gladiatorial theater, before, slowly, the internal organs and nervous systems began to grow upon the skeletons like a form of blight. It covered the entire skeleton, flesh, growing, creeping, developing, and then ultimately morphing into what would appear, an army of flayed men. No sooner was this done, did the next step proceed, epidermal layer of skin covering the internal organs and muscles, growing and taking shape, each being the same identical tan Caucasian color. The process occurred differently for the males than females, the males immediately gaining layer of honed muscles and pectorals, giving them the figures of Olympic swimmers. The females had leaner muscle, with slight pectorals, but most significantly, were the rotund, perfectly symmetrical breasts which could not be found on a normal human female.

The hair grew next, all of them possessing dark shades of hair, average length for the males, long for the females. Then, the remaining facial features were added, the nose, eyes, mouth and ears, all of which came to life.

And then, there were five hundred. Four hundred men, and one hundred women – all of them, perfectly made.

As one, the naked first squadron of what would later become the Overlord's Army – opened their eyes.

They gained sentience.

Nezumi was pleased. He had chosen the right template – an assassin who had no ties to anything or anyone. A ghost in the wind with impeccable skill, ingenious tactics and a perfect record of kills. A weapon who had no true overarching goals or dreams – than to merely be pointed and released. There was a slight sense of right and wrong – a limited morality compass – but that would easily be overwritten, and the 'mercenary' lifestyle would instead be replaced with absolute loyalty and dedication to his master.

"You all have been created for one purpose and one purpose only," Nezumi said, "To serve my Master, Zack Cabrera. To be his weapons, his tools, or his toys. His goals are your goals. His enemies are your enemies. Are there any questions?"

"No, sir, Commander Nezumi sir!"

Commander? Nezumi mused.

He could get used to that.

The Demon Butler intended on giving his first instruction – when he felt it. The corrupt soul, and a myriad of other darker, bleaker souls confined at that place… _they were set free_.

Therein lied the problem. They did not _escape_ , they were _set free_.

There was someone out there who orchestrated an intentional break-out, most likely with their own goals and intentions. Goals and intentions which would no doubt clash with that of his master.

"It seems that one of the unfortunate insects amongst this world's populace wishes to join my Master on the grand board," Nezumi said loudly.

"A rodent moving pieces by scurrying across a board believes himself to be a Chessmaster…" he shook his head. "...How quaint."

* * *

 **DC – Remastered Edition**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **7:22 AM**

I walked into the comfy little Starbucks-knockoff coffee shop, not bothering to pay attention to the name as the scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries hit my nostrils. I flickered my guess across the place, before eventually finding my target, sitting, with what looked like a small bag of ice cubes in a paper bag, which she was applying judiciously to her face. I moved over to the main counter, briefly making an order of two cups, before I moved towards the seat, taking my place in front of her with ease.

"That looks like it hurts."

She flinched, her gaze shooting upwards. "How did you find me?"

"I wanted a cappuccino. I just happen to be lucky, that's all." I said simply, before passing a cup over to her.

She frowned, staring at it suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned you know. Who do you take me for? A scorned Greek housewife?"

Her lip twitched a bit, and I could tell that I got her. She graciously accepted it, before slowly taking a sip. "So, what – you're going to drag me back to my mom now?"

"Well, no – I have a feeling me dragging you anywhere will probably send the wrong picture."

She still gave me a suspicious look. "Then… why are you here?"

"I don't know." I admitted easily. "Though the cappuccino could be a reason."

"Wait – what?"

I shot a small grin. "Honestly? I don't know why I'm here. I don't have the slightest idea. Maybe it's to help you out with your issues, maybe it's to help your mom out, or maybe it's just to talk? I haven't quite figured it out yet."

She gave me a long silent look.

"I'm not sure about a lot of things lately. Like you and your family for instance." I admitted truthfully, "Meeting you guys… it confused me."

"Confused… you?"

"You were… real. Too real. The realest I've seen since I was born. I always felt the world around me was made of pastel, of grey paint. Like it was a grumpy, sarcastic mime. Then you guys come in – waving rainbow colors like an excited couple in a gay parade."

She snorted. Partially in disbelief, partially in amusement. "I wouldn't say we're real… we have… our issues."

"And I get it. Those issues, how you react to them… it's what makes you real."

She rolled her eyes. "So my brother calling me a bitch and what I said to my mom – that's real?"

"When the alternative is going around with a Mickey Mouse smile, yes, you're real."

She shook her head. "You're weird."

"I know. But it's the _good_ weird. Or at least, I hope it is. Wouldn't want to give _good weird_ people a bad reputation, now would I?"

She laughed. "Yeah. It's definitely the good weird."

I grinned, and we fell back into silence.

"I didn't… want to be mean to my mom, you know," she started, running her thumb around her cup, "But… I'm just so sick and tired of everything. I mean – I don't even have a cellphone, or a laptop, or anything. The TV we have belonged to my dad, and my mom has never bought another one."

"Oh." I said slowly, "I see."

"Don't – don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like _that_." She hissed. "Like I'm some materialistic little girl. It's not that I want this things for myself, it's that if I don't have these things, I have to go to school and see people look at me with that _gaze_ , and listen to their stupid _condescending_ bullshit!"

I stared.

"They'll ask if I've seen a video on YouTube, or something on Facebook or Instagram, and I'll say – 'Oh, sorry, I don't have a phone or a laptop.' And then they'll look at me and ask 'Why don't you have a phone?'" She snarled. "Do you know what it's like to have to say, 'I don't have a phone cause my mom can't afford one for me and my brother?' or worse, do you know what it's like to say _nothing_ at all, and just let the awkward silence fill the air as they look at your shabby shoes and hand-me-down clothes and put it together for themselves?"

Oh. "Oh."

"Yes, _oh._ " She grit her teeth. "Do you know what it's like to be 'the poor girl?' To be the one who always gets the bare minimum, the one who isn't invited out for anything, the one who is always at the receiving end of some bullshit charity?"

"Do you know how it feels to get stuff from people, simply because they feel _better_ about themselves by giving you things? As if they've done some great service to humanity? Do you know what it's like to make sure you never ask your friends to buy you stuff, because you know you can never pay them back, and don't want to be seen as some sort of golddigger?"

She gripped her coffee harder. "And Lucian?" she almost scoffed. "It's like he doesn't even care or notice. He cracks jokes about it all the time, he points it out to people as though it's not a big deal, and he doesn't get it – he doesn't get that just because you're laughing as well, just because you're laughing with them, doesn't mean they're laughing _with you_."

I found myself genuinely uncertain as to what to say for once.

"And I _get_ it, okay?" she said, sighing back, "I get that my mom is trying her hardest and all that. But it's the truth – her hardest isn't good enough. It's never been good enough. We're _poor_ , and we all know it. If my dad didn't leave that car and the house for my mom – we'd probably be homeless and on the streets. Or worse, my mom would have become a stipper or something."

I didn't blink, or even let a single facial muscle twitch to expose the fact that Evelyn had no clue how close she was to guessing Naomi's past.

"Have you tried… you know, doing something to change things?"

"Like what? I'm thirteen. I do some odd-jobs for the neighbors during the summer vacation – but I can't really do anything else. Most places start hiring from sixteen – or fifteen if you look old enough." She said with a sigh, before counting her fingers "Babysitting, dogsitting, waitressing, tutoring, mowing lawns and washing cars – no one feels comfortable hiring me. The ones that do, are already taken or aren't hiring."

"Wow." I said breathlessly.

"You're telling me," she responded.

There was… definitely more to this than I had expected. The problem was, I knew how to fix this, but couldn't. Money was realistically of no real value or import to me… but could I really just toss this family a million dollars just like that and believe that it would immediately solve all their problems? Would they even know how to properly spend it, or would they just lavish it all and have it gone in months?

Then, the Samaritan's Dilemma came up. Would a one-time help aid them in becoming better, or would it instead, make them reliant on that help once the help was gone?

"Now that I think about it… I don't even know what you do for a living… or anything about you really, other than the fact that you can cook my mom under the table, you're really strong, and you're kinda good at balancing stuff." She rubbed her head, "And… you're surprisingly really easy to talk to. I mean… I can't believe I just poured out half of the stuff I said to you. I'd been keeping it in for so long… but I just… told you… like it was nothing."

So, it seemed my Charisma score did have some uses after all. If that was the case, did it mean that people worshipped The Flash and Superman, and would spill their deepest, innermost secrets to both of them?

"I have that calming effect on people." I said briefly. "It's a staple feature of being _this_ handsome."

She rolled her eyes. "Well at least you're not humble. You'd be _too_ perfect if you were."

Was that a backhanded compliment? I think it was.

"If I recall, weren't you too speechless to say anything to me when we first met?" I asked dryly.

Her cheeks gained a hint of red to them. "Well – you were… something."

"I'll have you know, you're not the first woman to have told me that."

It took her several seconds for it to click, and when she did, she tossed a fork in my direction, her face significantly redder. "Oh my god – you're some sort of pervert. Keep it in your pants will you?"

I made an exaggerated gasp. "The little girl actually knows about the birds and the bees?"

"I'm thirteen, not _six_." She said dryly.

I turned a glance to her chest. "I can't tell the difference."

Her face turned ashen. Not the jokingly-amused ashen, but the 'that-actually-hurt-ashen'.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly "That – that was uncalled for."

She didn't say anything, but I could tell by her facial expressions that I'd hit a soft-spot… right in the insecurity.

 _When was the last time I apologized to anyone… for anything?_

"If it helps, you're still growing – and if you're anything like your mother –"

She tossed another fork at me. I caught it between my fingers effortlessly.

"You're so – ugh." There was no real heat to her words though, which I was slightly thankful for. "You know, you never _did_ answer my question," she said pointedly, "Who _are_ you really?"

How did I go about answering that?

I shrugged, and gave her a serious look. "I'm a twenty-one year old man who was reincarnated into this world with the choice of bringing a grand utopia, or enslaving all of humanity to serve my every whim."

Silence.

"…Your imagination is worse than my brother's. What next? Playing dungeons and dragons and making up fake names like –"

"Dildo Faggins?" I supplied.

"Yes – exactly like that." She paused. "No – not –" she giggled, then laughed. "Oh my god. You're the worst. The absolute worst."

I grinned. "You know – you're not quite what I thought you'd be like when I first saw you."

"W-well," she stuttered, "I couldn't really help it at the time. I mean – you –"

"Were _something_." I said wryly. "Yes, we've already established that."

She shook her head. "That's… still not putting it lightly. I mean… _look_ at you –" she blushed, before covering her face "I can't believe I actually said that."

"Now, now, I know I'm good looking, but –"

"Good-looking? Are you joking? When I first saw you I thought you were some sort of supermodel or something. Haven't you noticed that two different waitresses came by to refill your drink like three times?"

I flickered my eyes over to the coffee, which was, surprisingly, actually refilled. More than that though, I could find two distinct pieces of paper underneath, with only one correct guess as to what was going to be written on those papers.

"I didn't." I admitted honestly. "My eyes are focused on only one girl here."

"I'm sure that's what you say to _all_ the girls."

"Do I really look like a playboy?"

"Does a cat really cough hairballs?"

"Touché."

We settled into a relatively comfortable silence, before I lifted the coffee, grabbing the papers underneath, and I stuffed them into my pocket.

 **Item Gained – Moonbucks Waitress Phone Numbers**

Evelyn gave me a sharp look from the corner of her eyes, as if to ask 'really?'

"You'll understand when you're older."

"Again with this – I'm _thirteen_ – you're only three years older than me!"

"And what a long three years it'll be."

She scowled. "Douche."

"Now, now, is that a way to talk to your kind, loving, older brother/uncle figure who's figured out a solution for your little money problems?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I'm not interested in drug trafficking."

I blinked. "Ouch. Hurtful. Is that what you think I do?"

"You've dodged the question like three times now about what you _actually_ do – so I'm guessing it's not exactly legal."

Well, someone's smart.

"Smart cookie." I said. "But no, I'm not trafficking drugs," Not yet anyway. "Even if I _were_ , I'm not stupid enough to admit it."

"So… what do you _do?_ "

"I'm a… Jack-of-All-Trades of sorts." I admitted. "Auto-Repair, Computer Programming, Musical Instruments, Hacking, Woodworking, Sculpting, Gambling, Cooking, etcetera. There isn't a single thing in this world I can't do if I put my mind to it. So money is hardly an issue."

"You're joking."

"I'm not." I replied smoothly.

"Mom said you never went to school."

"I didn't." I admitted.

"How did you learn Hacking and Computer Programming?"

"I'm self-taught."

She stared at me. "You're joking."

"Look, long story short, I was born with an amazingly high IQ for my age, which could rival most adults, and I have a rather… gifted… ability to learn." I said smoothly. "Now, do you want a solution to your problems or not?"

"…Okay…?"

"I'll need you to make copies of everything you do in classes. Physics, Biology, and most importantly – History. Better than making copies, I want you to go to the library, read ahead of the material, and find out some more stuff. The greatest inventions of this era, the greatest scientific discoveries, the most notable scientists – everything and anything. I expect it to be thick, and very informative – kind of like a Doctor's Thesis."

The flat look she gave me was absolutely comedic. She grabbed my coffee, taking a long dry sip, as if to say: _Not a chance in hell_.

"In exchange, I'll give you a hundred bucks every month until you complete it. You'll also have to give me bi-weekly updates about anything that catches your attention – but once it's all done, I'll give you a hundred grand."

She spluttered out the coffee, which, thankfully, I could dodge with ease. "A t-thousand – h-h-hundred –" She coughed some more, before turning to glare at me, "That isn't funny."

"I'm not joking."

For once, there was no amusement on my face. Not even the tiniest of slivers of it. My face was the business-mode that I had grown accustomed to using as Makarov.

"Y-you're serious?"

"I am."

"I – I don't get it – how does this benefit you at all?" She said, sounding confused "Essentially, I study super hard and ace my classes and do some extra credit for that much money –"

"I didn't go to school," I said, "So, there are a lot of things I don't know about. The specifics of World War II, how this world developed with the realization of alien interference, political stances and movements which changed the world… a lot of things. You'd be doing me a favor by compiling it all for me to read."

"You could get all that from the internet." She said bluntly.

"I could," I admitted, "But then, I'd miss out on getting to know you better, to read your perspective on things. Also, to see if you have a dainty handwriting to go with your face, or if you have chicken scrawls on paper."

She frowned. "Why would you want to know more about me?"

"Because…" I moved my hand over to her cheeks, watching as her face grew incrementally redder, before I pinched both of them and stretched them. "…You're real."

"Huh?"

I smirked, letting go of her cheeks. "Also… you remind me of my mom. Kind of. She was also… very quirky."

"…You'll spend a hundred grand on someone because they're… quirky?"

"What better reason is there to spend a hundred grand on someone?"

She shook her head. "You're… really weird Isaac."

"The good weird?"

She nodded. "The good weird."

I allowed a smile to grace my lips. "That's nice. I half expected you to ask me how I could afford that much money."

"Are you going to tell me if I ask?"

"Well, no." I admitted easily. "But still – asking is normally the courtesy."

"I couldn't care less about where the money came from, as long as it gets to me – I'm all good."

I liked that.

"Of course, this little deal of ours comes with two conditions."

"What?!"

"Relax – it's nothing too serious." I said. "First, you just have to apologize to your mother when you get back home. This isn't up for debate." I added that part after I saw her mouth open, and she closed it back.

"And the second thing?" she groused.

"You don't tell your mother that I'm the one helping you." I said simply. "Actually, you don't tell _anyone_. If they ask – you can come up with something like tutoring some kids after school – but don't mention my name in any of this."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons."

She seemed suspicious at first, but the overwhelming temptation of money killed that suspicion eventually.

"Fine... I guess."

 **Objective Complete!**

 **[Good Path] Follow Evelyn to make sure she's okay**

 **Hidden Objective Complete!**

 **Find a solution to Evelyn's money issues!**

 **Rewards:**

 **Information on History of the World**

 **Your Reputation with Evelyn has gone up significantly!**

 **Your Affection with Evelyn has gone up moderately!**

 **Would you like to view the Reputation and Affection guide?**

 **[Yes]**

 **[No]**

I turned down the option for now. Perhaps later – perhaps not. Still, my job wasn't exactly complete just yet.

"Come on, now – let's get you to school before the first bell rings. Wouldn't want you to be late now would we?"

"Um… I don't think it's a good idea to go to school today. To go _anywhere_ today."

She pointed behind me, and I turned around, my gaze landing on the TV. I immediately noticed that a lot of people in the little coffee shop were also staring at it, the news clear and loud.

"Turn it up!" someone yelled.

"… _and just days after the Gotham City Massacre, great disaster hits the city once more courtesy of the recent Arkham Asylum jailbreak. All of the Asylum's inmates were freed from their cells, including names such as Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Victor Szasz, Mr. Freeze and Killer Croc – and the Asylum's most dangerous and feared inmate –"_

My eyes caught the sight of green hair and pasty pale skin.

" _The Joker."_


	14. Legion

**Alright folks, so I try to be vague about some shit, and I'm otherwise fucking blunt with others, because writing is about showing a story, rather than telling. I could tell you "Zack fucks Batgirl and Wonder Woman in a Threesome. The End." Or I could _show_ it happening. Now, which of those two would you prefer?**

 **So, with that in mind - A lot of stuff I write is implied, some is overt, because you can say "This motherfucker here is scared of spiders" or you can show the motherfucker leaping off a thirty foot building to avoid one.**

 **What's the point I'm trying to make? I can't fucking tell you every single thing like I'm a horny ghost whispering answers in your ear during Sex Ed class. You got to also use your brains and figure shit out. This is in particular to the people who moaned like an underage school girl "Oh no! Zack is doing good! He's no longer evil! I'm not happy with this guy doing one good thing like a normal person! Stop making him be good!"**

 **Jesus. Fucking. Christ.**

 **I even made a fucking Blondi reference, and only about two people got it - Blondi was Adolf Hitler's beloved dog, and Hitler loved that dog like a motherfucker. Does that stop Hitler from being the personification of evil? Does having one thing he loved and cherished make him a fucking Disney princess? Does it motherfuckers? DOES IT?**

 **Like fuck! Some things don't need to be bluntly stated people! I'm sure that only about ten or so people ever even realized that the reason Zack went nuclear and killed Tamara McClain and her family way back in chapter 5 was because everything she said was the truth, and he couldn't deal with it. Go back, read between the lines and see what I mean when I say being subtle. Jesus.**

 **Now, to those who enjoyed, I feasted and bathed in your enjoyment, for which you are my sustenance to continue writing. Your prayers shall be answered, your downloads shall be swift, your crushes shall not be unrequited. Hail Satan.**

 **To those who moan, whine, complain or flame -**

 **Suck. My. Balls.**

* * *

 **DC - Remastered Edition**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **7:41 AM**

The Joker.

The _Joker._

There he was, in all his brilliant, insane glory. The Joker. The man who tried time and time again to break the Batman. The man who kidnapped and tortured Police Commissioner James Gordon, shot crippled, and presumably assaulted Barbara Gordon. The one who killed Jason Todd. The Joker – the personification of anarchy and insanity, so great was his insanity that he once possessed the Spectre – the Spirit of Vengeance – and took the powers of the being because his madness was just that uncontrollable.

Seeing his picture being presented on the News Screen rapidly reminded me of where exactly I was. There was a general silence in the coffee shop – a thick, permeating tension that travelled from everyone, both young and old, the very second their gazes landed on the man with green hair.

So… the Joker was feared. That was understandable. The problem now, was that I was yet to account for him in my calculations. Going out of my way to hunt him down and kill him would be… ironic. Hypocritical even. Why would I kill him? For the sake of it? Or because he'd killed a lot of people that I didn't know and could care less about? Because he's a maniac?

No. None of these were the correct reasons. There was only one reason:

 _Because he's the Joker._

The Joker was random, unpredictable – just like the nature of the card in a game, it was essentially a wildcard that could completely render most plans null and void. My plans for this City could not co-exist with the Joker in tow. They were mutually exclusive.

The only problem I could see with that plan was the fact that it would reveal to the world once more that 'The Consultant' was still alive. Unless, of course – I did not kill him personally. Yes… that seemed to be the best line of action for now. I would need to immediately speed up my current plans –

" _All_ of Arkham's inmates broke out?" I heard one of the waitresses ask, her voice a silent, shaky whisper.

"That's what they're saying…" another responded with a grimace "…and so soon after the Disheartening? What's happening to this city…?"

"Where's the Batman? We _need_ the Batman – if we don't have him –"

I grunted. Yes, it would be bad. The police force was weaker than ever - and they were never able to fully restrain Gotham's villains when they were at their best. Now? They'd be run over effortlessly. Gotham City was essentially now a large open sandbox for anyone to do as they wished. The military would be rolling into town soon – but it would be too late to make a difference, and even then, the Military was ill-equipped to handle the Joker.

Everyone was ill-equipped to handle the Joker.

I held Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime to a higher standard and threat than I did the Batman. The Joker's intellect rivaled Batman's effortlessly, his ability to create inventions, bombs and numerous lethal contraptions put him another step higher, but it was his absolute disregard for any sort of life whatsoever that made him infinitely more dangerous.

The longer I let him live, the longer I gave him preparation time – and one does not give the Joker preparation time and expect it to end well.

"Get back home and do whatever you can to stay safe," I told Evelyn.

"Wait – what? Where are you going?"

"To a friend's place. I want to make sure he's okay." I said briefly. "I'll be back in no time."

I didn't say anything else as I rushed out of the coffee shop. I targeted the most isolated location on my minimap, and I sprinted towards it as fast as I could. The wind rushing in my face, the beating in my chest, all of it, the pumping adrenaline, it made me smile.

It made me laugh.

 _The Joker_.

I didn't know why I was laughing, I just was. The thought of _meeting_ the Joker – of being the one to _kill_ the Joker – it sent tiny bolts of electricity arching throughout my body. It made me feel as though my every step was being propelled by solid clouds. It made my blood rush – it made it pump in a manner that I did not think was possible.

 _I was excited_.

I had always been enamored by the Joker. I wasn't even sure why – it was merely another one of those things completely obscured by my past. A man, pushed beyond the brink of sanity, propelled forward by 'one bad day' and then becoming a sociopathic persona capable of being the arch-nemesis of the Batman. Batman was cold and brooding and honestly, a rather boring character with his white-knight ideals… but the Joker – the Joker was a person whose motives defied all possible categorizations. The Joker could be good, he could be evil, he could be both and he could be neither – depending on his mood and what suited him. He wasn't motivated by money or fame or greed – his motivations were all about _teaching a lesson_. _Proving_ the darkness that was inside people –

He was… simply brilliant.

 **Plot Progression!**

 **The Evil Overlord's List – Part I**

 **Some of the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. In this case, an unseen circumstance has enabled the Batman's Rogues' Gallery to be freed from Arkham Asylum, and to wreak chaos on Gotham. It is up to you to put them in their place and continue your plans for the domination of the city.**

 **Sub-Objectives:**

 **Kill, imprison, recruit or incapacitate every escaped convict.**

 **Note:** **Choosing to Kill every convict will render the Main Objective 'Item Five: Reform the Villains of Gotham' invalid.**

 **Special Objective:**

 **Recruit or Eliminate the Joker**

I stopped cold.

 _Recruit?_

Could I even do that? To _befriend_ the Joker – to _court_ the Prince of Chaos – to have the Joker on _my_ side? With my powers… yes. But that was assuming the Joker was not chaotic enough for any change I make to his soul to be superficial at best…

…Was I overestimating the Joker's actual threat level?

I greatly underestimated Superman and the Justice League and I paid the price for it, but… the Joker _was_ just a mere human. An impressive human, but a human nonetheless. Nezumi had been a demonic being from hell, and it had been effortless for me to re-write his personality. Who was the Joker to be able to resist what an actual demonic king could not?

I reached a secluded spot in a back alley, checking my mini-map to confirm that there was no one watching me, before I gestured my hand forward.

" **ID – Home**."

A portal appeared in front of me, and I wasted no time in jumping through. The travel was instantaneous, and I found myself once more standing in a long ornate hallway. I trekked down the hallways, only to pause when I noticed a black-haired woman in a French Maid outfit dusting a portrait.

"What in the – who are you?" I turned my gaze to the top of her head, and I rose an eyebrow when I saw it.

 **Female Homunculus**

 **Level 60**

The woman turned to me, her eyes immediately going wide, before she knelt and took a long, formal bow. The extremely formal version, as if she were a Japanese person begging for forgiveness.

"It is my honor to meet you, Overlord Master."

She spoke in a voice that was nigh-emotionless, a simple sounding monotone that would not have been out of place on a robot.

"I am Female Homunculi No. 98, out of the Aphrodite Squadron of one-hundred female homunculi created by the Commander." She continued monotonously. "I am designed, according to the Commander's words, to 'look aesthetically pleasing to the Master, whilst ensuring the cleanliness and appeal of the yet-unnamed fort.'"

"The… Commander?"

"It is what we Homunculi call our creator, Commander Nezumi." She replied immediately. "We are also informed that you, Overlord Master are our creator's creator, hence, any instructions given by you supersede that of the Commander. If you do not wish for me to call Commander Nezumi 'commander' I will desist from doing so."

I was of mixed feelings on the homunculi's dedication, but I knew Nezumi. There was no way he would do anything that he believed superseded my own authority.

"No – it's not a problem."

She nodded. "As you command Overlord Master. I was also instructed by the Commander to 'cater to your every desire and whim' and I am to inform you that I possess anatomically accurate functioning female sexual organs. I however do not possess the capacity for reproduction or fertilization, hence, you may use me in any way you desire."

She said this while gesturing to her breasts and body, which, I could not deny, was nearly flawless. Would having sex with a homunculi count as the use of a sex toy, or a sex robot? I shook my head at the thought.

"Perhaps later," I responded dryly. "And… what exactly can you do… aside from casually offering sex and looking pretty?" I paused. "Actually – I've only been gone for about a day – so tell me all about the Homunculi and what Nezumi has done so far."

She immediately snapped to attention. Her legs were spread at ease and her arm went behind her back in what was easily a textbook military stance.

"I am Female Homunculi No. 98 of the Aphrodite Squadron, Alpha Division of the Overlord's Army. The Alpha Division currently consists of 500 homunculi, however, the Commander indicates that his goal for a single Division is to entail between 10,000 and 20,000 homunculi."

That was… _a lot_ of homunculi. I liked it.

"The current Alpha Division is separated into Squadrons consisting of 100 members each. The Squadrons are further divided into Platoons of 15-30 homunculi each. These Platoons are divided one final time into Sections of 5-10 homunculi." She clarified.

"That's very organized."

"Commander Nezumi believes an organized military structure would be necessary for the Alpha Division, considering future plans and considerations to appear as a paramilitary group."

I nodded. "Proceed."

"Each individual Homunculus possess Olympic-Athlete level Endurance, Speed, Durability and Strength." To prove her point, she performed a perfect split in one maneuver, and was back to standing in another. "In addition, every Homunculi possesses high-level contortionism skills and significantly greater-than-normal flexibility. We have a massively increased pain-tolerance level, perfect eyesight and hearing, and a nose to match."

"Impressive." I said. "Go on."

"In addition, every homunculus of the Alpha Division possesses exceptional mastery in utilizing firearms of all capabilities and sorts. Assault rifles, pistols, shotguns, semi-automatic weapons, automatic weapons, sniper rifles, and even going further to possess mastery in explosive weapons, grenades and rocket launchers." She clarified. "99.8% is the current accuracy percentage. That is, we will hit our targets, moving or stationary, with any weapon, over reasonable distances, 99.8% of the time. Commander Nezumi said this was on your instructions, in order to prevent a rare disease called 'Stormtrooper Syndrome'".

My lips twitched.

"The Alpha Division also possesses significant mastery and knowledge in various martial art forms. Jujitsu, Kickboxing, Taekwondo, Judo, Karate and Wrestling. Our knowledge of armed combat consists of knife-fighting, and utilizing staffs and utilizing swords. This, alongside a strict military approach and training, is what makes Commander Nezumi refer to Alpha Division as 'Legion'."

I nodded. "Interesting name. Is there anything else?"

"The Commander has granted the Alpha Division a special ability to enable maximum infiltration." As she said this, I watched her hair change color from black, to blonde, and then to red-headed. Her shape and facial structure likewise followed suit, her body going from lithe, to small and thin, her breasts and hips shrinking to smaller sizes.

What stood before me was now a teenage red-headed girl with small breasts and looking a bit on the thin side.

"Our voice can also match the changes." She spoke with a new, perky, upbeat voice that I felt like strangling out of her. "This, in addition to some access to the Overlord Master's soul magic – the Alpha Division can assume the life of anyone, down to the minutest of details, from nervous verbal tics to subconscious habits."

I could feel myself getting excited. "Anyone?"

"Yes, Overlord Master. As long as their soul profile is recorded within us – we can become, _anyone_."

With a bit of transformation once more, I was now staring at a perfect replica of Barbara Gordon – wearing a maid outfit. Needless to say, I could feel myself getting aroused. Except… I could tell it wasn't actually _her_. The stance, the facial expression, the way she carried herself – this was just a physical copy.

"So, if you gained Barbara Gordon's soul profile, you can essentially _become_ her, as opposed to just _looking_ like her?"

She nodded. "That is affirmative, Overlord Master."

I could feel my grin widening by the second. "And _all_ of you can do this?"

Another nod.

"We, Overlord Master – are legion."

 **Quest Progression!**

 **The Evil Overlord's List – Part I**

 **Objective Completed!**

 **Item Two: Create an Army of Homunculi**

 **Congratulations! You have unlocked the [Military] Panel! You can now supervise your budding army, promote officials, and assign missions!**

New features again. New features I kept discovering about that I never even knew my ability possessed. One of these days, I needed to sit down and explore my Gamer powers to its full extent, and possibly try to understand where it came from in the first place.

 **Military Panel**

 **Overlord's Army – Rank 1 [19.02%]**

 **Hierarchy:**

 **[Locked] – [Locked] – [Locked] – Divisions – [Locked] – Squadrons – Platoons – Sections**

 **Divisions Available:**

 **[Alpha Division]**

 **[Locked]**

 **[Locked]**

 **[Locked]**

 **[Locked]**

 **Alpha Division [1]:**

 **The Alpha Division currently consists of 500 homunculi. This is the starting number, with the expected number to be 10,000 to 20,000. Each Division has its own Squadrons, Platoons and Sections. The Alpha Division is also known as 'The Legion' by Nezumi.**

 **(1.1)Squadrons** **:**

 **Aphrodite Squadron – This consists of all 100 female homunculi currently created.**

 **Al'Tair Squadron – Consists of 100 male homunculi infiltrators**

 **Hawkeye Squadron – Consists of 100 male homunculi sharpshooters**

 **Jenkins Squadron – Consists of 100 male homunculi infantry/fighter troops**

 **Unassigned Squadron – Consists of 100 currently unassigned male homunculi**

I stared at the organizational structure, more particularly, on the names. Was it just me, or had Nezumi finally gotten a flair for using all the right references? I almost felt proud.

"Why are all the females in one squadron?"

"The Commander is of the opinion that the female homunculi are best suited for seduction, or undercover operations and administrative positions." She said briefly, with no emotion in her tone whatsoever. "Secretaries, assistants, escorts, maids, nannies, nurses, teachers, flight operators, news anchors, air hostesses, emergency service operators, etcetera. Female-specific and female-centered roles are to be fulfilled by the Aphrodite Squadron. The Commander believes that playing to our strengths as being with female sex organs is crucial, and that we need not take roles which can be performed more optimally by the males in a misguided desire to achieve equality."

I rubbed my nose slowly, and amusedly. "Alright… where is Nezumi now?"

"The Commander is –"

"Right here, Master Zack."

I spun around, finding the white-haired, lazy-eyed butler in an elegant suit approach me with a tray in hand. "I was unsure of what snack you would prefer to have on your arrival, so I made a small trip to France in order to provide you with some professionally made croissants."

I picked up the still heated food item, and I looked Nezumi in the eye.

"You travelled to France to get me croissants?"

"It was between that, or to head to Italy for some Pizza. I wagered on both choices, and decided to go with France. Perhaps I made the wrong decision?"

I chuckled as I bit in. "I'd say either one was the right one."

 _Ping!_

 **You have tasted a special item!**

 **Special Consumables Unlocked!**

 **Restorative Items Unlocked!**

 **You now receive special benefits from consuming certain food items and meals!**

 _Another one_. I stared at the notification in irritation. Another new feature – where the hell had all these things been? Why were they all coming into effect now?

 **Consumable Item:**

 **Gaston's Croissants**

 **+100% Affection with French Women for 10 hours**

 **+15% HP Regen for 3 Minutes**

Well, wasn't _that_ just damn useful?

"Number 98," Nezumi spoke, and the homunculus immediately snapped to attention.

"Yes Commander?"

"I take it you have properly entertained Master Zack in my brief absence?" he asked, turning his attention to the homunculus.

"To the best of my abilities, Commander."

Nezumi seemed satisfied, and then he turned to me. "What do you think of the Homunculus, Master Zack? I chose an assassin from your collection of memories to serve as the default – before making further necessary adjustments."

I took another bite out of my croissant. "Good. Very good – you've outdone yourself this time around Nezumi."

He took a bow. "Only for you Master Zack." He rose from his bow, "Number 98 is here for you Master Zack, to make use of to your utmost satisfaction." He turned his attention back to the Homunculus. "Number 98 – relieve Master Zack of his worries."

I almost swallowed wrongly when she stripped out of the maid uniform, and I marveled at the work. If I did not know beforehand that she was an artificially created being, and if I did not know even further that she was not Barbara Gordon, there was no way I would have known by looking at her. Full, thick breasts. Toned, tanned stomach. Rich, sensual thighs. Perky, pink nipples. With a body that would make millions in the porn industry, or the modelling industry, or both, she sauntered towards me, got on her knees and began unbuckling my belt.

She wasn't Barbara, but god damn – she looked _exactly_ like her and that thought was sending my blood pumping. Pumping downwards of course.

"I believe its best that you ah… enjoy some privacy, Master Zack."

Thankfully, Nezumi knew how to read a room, and I was greeted to the wonderful sight of Barbara Gordon lips slowly wrapping around me.

It might have been fake – but it was a _very good_ fake.

Wait… wasn't I supposed to be focusing on the villains that escaped from Arkham?

Ahhhh…. Probably after this blowjob. Gotham could wait.

* * *

XXXX

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Abandoned Intergang Hideout**

 **9:24 AM**

It was almost too easy.

He had never experienced a job as easy as this in his entire life. He stared at the crates filled to the brim with Alien technology, crates filled with guns that Earth could not feasibly have acquired on their own efforts, and he saw it instead as mountains of millions of dollars. The Gotham Massacre had killed every single last member of the Intergang – and all their spoils of war, their vehicles, their devices, their tech – all of it was up for grabs.

And of course, he and his daughter were the first ones to grab it. Literal billions – taken so easily.

"So…" she let out a grunt as she dropped one more large crate "…we'll need a truck to move all of this. A really large truck." She looked around and saw the crates "Or seven."

He shook his head. "I don't think transportation is ever going to be an issue for us anymore."

She tilted her head at him, and he almost frowned. "Use your head girl. What do you think is one of the most useful technological devices the people of Apokolips have?"

It didn't take long for it to click once more in her head. That was what he liked about her. Never slow on the uptake. It would be disappointing if she were.

"But where do we –"

"Search the box on the extreme right. The one I told you to separate from the rest."

She moved towards it, rummaging through it, before holding up a small rectangular object. He could already feel the amount of things he would be able to do with it – once he got it to one of those technology gurus and had it re-outfitted into a smaller, more mobile version. Perhaps he would attach it to his belt – a supercomputer with the ability to instantly create portholes and transport objects –

Teleportation would be an immensely useful tool in his arsenal.

"So… this little thing here is a Motherbox?"

"That little _thing_ , is a ticket to anywhere, from anywhere. The ultimate smuggling tool, the ultimate assassination tool. It renders borders and distance irrelevant, and at the same time – it is a highly advanced piece of software that can control earth's mundane technologies."

She stared at it, a smile slowly forming on our lips.

"And it is ours?"

He nodded. "And it is ours."

There was no technology on earth that averted the opening of boom tubes. Nowhere – from the president's office, to the deepest vaults of Fort Knox – all of it was now fair game. Were he the holiday sort, he could not think of a better form of Christmas present.

"Are we going to sell it?"

He snapped his gaze in the direction of the girl.

"Are you stupid girl? Why in the world would we sell _this_ of all things?"

She pointed.

"Because we have a whole box of them."

He let those words slowly sink in, his gaze following her direction.

"Well now – that changes everything."

He could not help but wonder, what would someone like Lex Luthor be willing to give for technology that was, in every conceivable way 'out of this world?'

 _BOOOM!_

A powerful shockwave and the resounding echo of an explosion rung out in the distance, forcing him to stabilize himself from the force, and snapping his attention in that general direction.

"What was that?"

"I – I don't know – I think –" she flipped open her device, a smartphone, and several seconds later, she went quiet. He did not like the sound of that quiet.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"There was a breakout at Arkham Asylum. Every single fucker got out. _Every single one_."

He took in a sharp breath. Without the Batman present in the city –

"Get all the boxes ready." He barked. "We're leaving Gotham, _now_."

He was not taking any chances dancing with the _clown_. Not in the slightest. Besides that, with so many villains out and about, causing pointless havoc – it was bound to attract the attention of the Justice League. Bound to attract the attention of Earth's most dangerous man.

He did _not_ want to be present for that confrontation.

* * *

XXXX

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Deep Underground**

 **Zack's Fortress**

"Well that was refreshing – but I guess it's time for business now."

I stood in front of the large gladiatorial theater, staring straight at the gathered Alpha Division, the gathered Legion. Nezumi stood beside me, looking quite dapper in his butler's outfit.

"You are homunculi! There is no time for inspiring speeches, and no point in me giving them." I yelled out. "As we speak, idiotic villains are attacking the city and undermining my plans. The police force is incompetent to stop them, the military is always held up by something, and because superheroes decided to own territories like squabbling children own lunchboxes, the Justice League will not arrive to save the day."

I marched. "As it stands, Gotham's line of defense consists of a Teenager named Robin, a young woman named Batgirl, and a young adult named Nightwing. With two adults called Batwing and Batwoman. Oh, and possibly a Butler named Alfred. These six people are supposedly to guard the city against any and all threats – with absolutely no powers but fancy gadgets and suits. If that doesn't sound stupid to you, I don't know what is."

I spun. "Thankfully I have arrived. You, the Alpha Division, will be Gotham's vanguard. Its protectors. Why? Because this City has grown on me, and it shall be mine. No arguments. No questions. Your instructions are simple:"

"Altair Division and Unassigned Division, you are to use this resounding chaos to 'Take Over' the lives of majority officers and influential individuals in the Gotham Police Force. Divide yourself into platoons and sections, assign a leader, and begin your mission."

I turned to the side. "Aphrodite Division – commence feminine spy operations. Insert yourselves in favorable positions, and 'Take Over' as many as you can. You will be nurses, pediatricians, and secretaries – most men have loose tongues when dealing with women, so use that to your advantage."

I spun to the side. "Jenkins Division and Hawkeye Division! Suit up and immediately assume the role of a privately owned paramilitary company. The paperwork has been forged and you work for, and are hired by Makarov Dreyer. You will assist in the tactical elimination of any targets you deem are a threat to Gotham City. Set your weapons to stun and non-lethal. Lethal force may be used when completely unavoidable."

Nezumi created a large portal, along with it, he also created a numerous racks filled to the brim with military gear and equipment, stun-batons, stun-guns, actual guns with both rubber and normal bullets, and enough of the proper equipment to spare.

"You will be set on the outskirts of the city. Your vehicles, helicopters and other necessary items will be provided on sight – remember, you are to _appear_ like the heroic Calvary. So I expect the very best from each and all of you. Now suit up – and let's go show this world what a _real_ army looks like."

"Yes sir, Overlord-Commander sir!"

Overlord-Commander? I turned to Nezumi and he shrugged.

"I kind of like it."

"The titles they give _does_ tend to have a flair to it." He mused. "Speaking of which, Master Zack, what title will you be wearing out this morning? The Consultant? The Billionaire? Or perhaps, the Horror? It has been quite a while since you used that last one."

"None of the above."

"None?"

I nodded. "Whoever sprung the criminals from jail did it with the intention of either getting the Batman back to the city, or confirming if I was still alive. They cut my plan down by six whole days doing so – and I'm not about to give them the satisfaction of publicly announcing my arrival. Not when Superman and the Justice League might be keeping a close eye on me."

Nezumi grinned. "So, what is it that we will be doing today then Master Zack?"

"Hunting and Gathering." I said cheekily. "Hunting a crow, and gathering some poisonous herbs."

* * *

XXXX

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **10:34**

Gotham was going to the dogs.

As a cat person, she did not like that at all. The Consultant's actions had sent a rippling shockwave that could be felt throughout the entire city. It made it appear as though the world was ending. Bruce Wayne's name, synonymous with corruption and slander, Batman, missing and presumed dead or worse, and an overwhelming, thick sense of dread had settled on the shoulders of the inhabitants. Yet, paradoxically, the streets had never been peaceful.

Roads and alleys where women would once walk into and forever shatter their innocence, could be strolled by leisurely. Places where a knife was often rammed into your back unexpectedly, were hollow and deserted. The Consultant had reduced the crime rate of the city to near-zero.

Even she would not deny it. Every time she was tempted to go out and 'get' something she fancied, a vision of herself lying on the ground with her heart violently ejected from her chest would paralyze her to the spot.

She did not want to die. She also most certainly did not want to die in _that_ manner.

For years she had failed to evade Batman, and in one night, a mysterious newcomer had incapacitated him. She did not want to try her luck against such odds.

Of course, with far less police, and with far less Batman, she knew it was only a matter of time before Arkham's inmates got testy. It happened far sooner than she anticipated though, and now, she was courtesy to the sight of the chaos that was once more befalling the city.

Victor Szasz ran around like a man possessed, looking for more and more people to kill.

Firefly torched down buildings at random, cackling to himself all the way.

Solomon Grundy barged into shops with shiny items, easily searching for trinkets to take.

Killer Croc walked around the streets like it was a casual Tuesday, the cannibalistic being targeting people as his next meals.

Mr. Freeze was once more setting parts of the city on ice, apparently looking to convert it to a winter wonderland so he could thrive here.

Poison Ivy's giant roots went up and about, turning buildings into exotic flower holders, and strangling people in the process.

Chaos – it was chaos everywhere. Worst of it all, no one had heard of the Joker. No one had seen him or Harley Quinn since the breakout. _That_ , was the most terrifying thing of all.

The police had their hands full, and they could barely do anything to stop the villains. The heroes on the other hand, could not handle so many different threats effectively, as she spotted Nightwing engaged in combat with Tallyman, Batwoman attempt to take on Electrocutioner, and Batgirl was losing against the Riddler.

 _The Riddler_.

It was overwhelmingly clear that they were not in any true state of mind to be fighting crime. Their movements were sluggish and stank more of desperation than determination, and it showed in their mediocre performance. The absence of Batman was clear as day, and it was chipping away at their morale, little-by-little.

She was almost tempted to jump in and help them – _almost_ –

Until the sound of helicopters echoed across Gotham like a heavy siren.

 _The Military?_

No – wait. It wasn't.

Instead, she could see it, emblazoned on the side of the helicopters, the infamous curved and stylistic 'L' that spelled the name of one of Gotham's largest industries.

Legend Industries… had its own military force?

 _Why didn't Bruce ever think of that?_

Why indeed.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered

* * *

She was tired.

"So, I see this riddle is one in which the answer is obvious."

She was very tired.

"Give it up Riddler!"

The Justice League had chosen one of the worst times in the world to be occupied with something else. The Flash, Superman, the rest of them – for one reason or another, something was going on elsewhere, at this exact moment, when Gotham was in trouble. The tactic reminded her of a particular person, a villain who would only ever strike whenever Batman wasn't present, a villain who had figured out his secret identity.

 _No. Stop. He's dead. This isn't the time to think about him._

A cane smacked into her stomach, reinforcing that notion as she doubled over, and then it smacked into the side of her face, sending her sprawling from the impact and rattling her brain inside her skull.

"Riddle me this: What is black and blue, and getting kicked around like a fool?"

She grit her teeth and shook her head. She grabbed two batarangs from her belt and tossed it towards the laughing man, only for him to deflect one, and for the other one to fly past him.

"So the rumors were true." The Riddler said, rubbing his chin.

She felt a spark of irritation. "What rumors?"

"The Batman is dead. Killed by the Consultant! Of all things! A Consultant! The most feared villain in all of Gotham! A Consultant!"

She snarled, lunging forward at the Riddler, tossing caution to the wind. "He's not dead!"

He leapt back, amusement plastered all over his face. "Oh? Then where is he? Where is the Batman in Gotham's greatest hour of need?"

What was she to say?

 _Broken and in rehab? Still recovering from surgery?_

She herself did not know the truth. They hadn't told her the truth. The Justice League knew his condition, but hadn't said a word. They kept it under wraps, and according to them, it was on Batman's instructions that no one knew how he was doing. So she didn't know. She didn't know and the thought, and worry had been driving her insane. It made her unable to sleep, made her unable to think.

Then there was the Massacre which plagued her every sleeping moment and every waking thought. The blood, the smells, the gore, the hearts –

She couldn't sleep without the Consultant's smiling face peering down at her, holding a bloody heart in his hands.

"PAY ATTENTION!"

She barely managed to dodge another hit with his cane, gritting her teeth and cursing herself for losing focus during the battle.

"Well now, this riddle is one that's just too boring." The Riddler said, "What is large and green and apparently cannot be seen?"

She wanted to question it, especially the way his eyes seemed to look behind her, but at the same time, she knew that turning around could be disastrous, and it was likely that the Riddler was lying.

That was until the large green root of a plant slammed into her midsection causing her eyes to widen and her to cough at the force of the impact that definitely shattered a few ribs, before it sent her flying away, rolling unto the tarmac.

"Batgirl!"

She could hear Nightwing's call, or was it Robin's? She wasn't sure… all she could focus on was the blinding pain from the impact. It felt as though her stomach had been flogged by a tree, which was exactly what had happened. Poison Ivy's 'babies' were autonomous, and they attacked everyone and everything. The Riddler had been baiting her right into the path of one – and she had been too unfocused to notice.

A large, overwhelming buzzing sound began to echo, and her dazed mind barely recognized it as a helicopter. No – as _a lot_ of helicopters.

She watched as men clad in dark beige military camo roped down from the skies with guns in their hands, and she almost wanted to scream –

Didn't they know that these were supervillains?

"Target Acquired. Gamma One – this is Section 12. We have sights on priority target – The Riddler. Engaging now."

"W-wait – y-you –"

There was the sound of something _buzzing_ like sharp static.

"Gamma One, Priority target down. Target will be restrained and delivered. This is Section 12 moving to the next priority target – Solomon Grundy."

She stared, stared in disbelief at the sight that was before her. The Riddler, unconscious and bound effortlessly. Solomon Grundy, attempting to 'smash' the men, only for several, dead on accurate shots to his jaw and forehead, with…

 _Incendiary rounds?_

Solomon Grundy let out a large, uncomfortable screech that hurt her ears, as he was promptly cooked from the inside out.

"Target down. I repeat, target down."

On and on it went – with precision that was almost inhuman –

A rubber bullet was shot by a sniper, hitting Firefly straight in the forehead and putting him out of commission.

Killer Croc was beaten into submission with soldiers holding stun-batons and riot shields. Their movements were too fast, too smooth, and too coordinated for him to do anything. It was like watching the biggest bully in the yard curl up to a ball and be kicked around by a group of three year old girls.

No effort was wasted on Victor Szasz, as a hail of rubber bullets put him out of commission in seconds.

The Electrocutioner was somewhat tougher for them to get a proper handle on, but there were too many of them, and they were ridiculously well trained. A live ammunition round, rather than a rubber bullet, found itself embedded into the Electrocutioner's kneecaps, and he, too, was down for the count.

"Who… are these guys?" She heard Robin's voice – Tim's voice, ask from directly behind her, and she realized that most of their fighting was done and over with.

"I don't know." Nightwing responded. "I've never heard of them before. Nothing about them. But judging by their insignia's –" their eyes went to the logos on their equipment and gear "They belong to Legend Industries. To Makarov Dreyer."

That name brought unease and resentment to all of them. Gotham's only other Billionaire – whose campaign had irreversibly smeared Bruce's name in the media.

"Can they – can we let them do this?" Robin asked, "They just –"

"Technically, no. They can't. They're not enforcers of the law in any way. Then again… neither are we."

Almost as soon as it began, it ended. Swift. Fast. Faster than anything they could have done on their own.

 _Faster than anything Batman had ever done_.

That thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. Especially as the rounded up criminals were all tied up and unconscious, and all of it, done without a single causality, without causing any property damage, without putting individual lives in any danger.

She should have felt happy. She should have felt glad that the threat was over. Instead, she felt…

 _Useless._

"I'm heading back to Titan's Tower." Robin said, out of the blue. "I think… I think I need to be out of Gotham. Just for a while."

Somehow, she could not help but feel the same.

* * *

XXXX

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Abandoned Hideout**

Monsters.

They were monsters.

"You know, have I ever mentioned just how much I enjoy your enhanced senses Nezumi?"

"Not that much, Master Zack."

Nothing he did worked. None of his serums. None of his gasses. None of his inventions. Even the strongest of his chemical components – he tossed it at them, and they just walked through it like it was a cloud of air. He'd tossed _hydrofluoric acid_ at them and shot _liquid nitrogen_ at them – and they just shrugged it off in amusement.

"W-what what do you want with me?"

"Oh, you know – just your general knowledge of chemistry. You see, I was originally thinking about kidnapping you and forcing you to work for me – but then I realized something," the smaller monster, with slick black hair in a ponytail, clapped his hands as though having an epiphany "I don't need _you_. All I need, is your _knowledge_. Which means, I can get all of that without having to take the rest of you. Isn't that nifty?"

"You – you can't –"

The boy _blurred_ forward, and he found himself being choked effortlessly by the neck.

"Do you know who I am?"

He shook his head in the negative.

"I am the Consultant."

All at once, dread, cold, overwhelming dread filled him up. An impossible amount of dread, at facing one of Gotham's most feared names – one of Gotham's most terrifying villains.

"And you, little crow – are a means to an end."

Scarecrow whimpered.

" **Master Soul Drain.** "

And he was no more.

"So, that's one down. One to go."

* * *

XXXXX

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Conservatory**

Nezumi was like a bloodhound, in regards to his ability to sense emotions and people, and eventually aid me in tracking them down. Once I had absorbed Scarecrow's soul, I also absorbed a significant amount of his psychology, chemistry, and biology knowledge, and I absorbed along with it, the secret of his famed fear gas, and how exactly it worked. With my ability to alter anything to anything, it didn't take me long to realize just how powerful this was in my arsenal.

" **Alter – Fear Gas**."

I waved my hand in the air, and I substituted a large amount of oxygen for the compounds necessary, but at the same time, I made the gas both odorless and colorless. No one, except for me, would have any idea that they were breathing in something else instead of air. This was not even taking into account the ways I could inject it into people or deliver stronger doses via contact.

Right now, however, I gestured the fear gas to move inside the building where I knew Poison Ivy to be located. She was, the final step and stage of my little plan, and she had taken up a position that was far away from the actual city, and was staying in relative comfort.

"Is there a particular reason why we are waiting for your fear gas to take effect, rather than merely approaching and binding the woman?"

I hummed. "I increased the potency of Scarecrow's formula a bit. I also reduced the activation time… so I just want to see what sort of effect it'll have on –"

A wild, manic scream echoed from within.

"Well – that answers that question."

Nezumi and I sauntered into the large greenhouse building, overrun with vines, flowers, trees and more green than I could account for, and we came across the sight of one Pamela Isley.

It was not a pretty sight.

She was clawing at herself. Clawing, biting, ranting, screaming, and frothing at the mouth. There were tears streaming down her eyes and snot dribbling from her nose. Her brilliant fiery red hair was a scattered mess, her green dress was torn in a lot of places that exposed her body, but she was in no state of mind to care.

"Stopstopstopstopstop! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!" She was now banging her head on the floor "MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTO-"

In a blur, Nezumi was behind the woman, with a well-placed chop to the back of her neck. Her eyes went wide, before she slumped forward into unconsciousness… in what appeared to be a pool of her own urine.

Damn. There went all my sexual fantasies.

"Master Zack… what percentage constitutes increasing the potency a _bit_?" Nezumi asked.

"That was just a 20% increase… why did it – _how_ did it have that much of an effect?"

"I believe it is the result of your magic Master Zack. … And possibly because your ingredients, as it were, constitutes pure elements lacking any impurities. I highly doubt Scarecrow was capable of converting nitrogen into pure oxygen with but the snap of his fingers."

That was… fascinating. What would happen if I gave it a 50% increase? A 100% increase? A 300% increase? Could I kill someone with nothing but their own fear?

"Hmm…. This probably deserves some further study Nezumi." I said, unable to hide my small grin. "Come on – pick up Poison Ivy and let's head back home. I think we've had as much fun as we could today."

For once, it seemed that things were going according to plan.

* * *

XXXXX

* * *

 **Later that evening…**

 **Gotham City**

 **7:23 PM**

 **Brooks Household**

"– and the guys were like pew pew pew!" Lucian said giddily. "You totally should have seen it Zack! It was the coolest thing ever! They were like some sort of super-army or something!"

I tilted my eyebrow as I leaned into the dining chair. "Super-army?" I turned my eyes towards the direction of Evelyn. "Really?" I said, inserting as much skepticism into my voice.

Evelyn shrugged. "Normally I'd say Lucian is full of hot air –"

"Hey!"

"But he's kind of right this time. These guys… they were _super_ professional. I've… actually never seen anything like it before."

I hummed, before turning to Naomi, who, despite my best efforts, decided to make dinner today in order to 'thank me' for everything. "And what did you think?"

"I was just glad they rounded up all the criminals," she admitted, "And what they did afterwards… they're the real heroes."

I rose an eyebrow to indicate confusion. "What did they do afterwards?"

"You didn't know?" Evelyn answered in her mother's place "They went around, pulling people from any buildings that had been damaged, putting out the fires that had been started, offering first aid treatment to anyone who was even slightly injured – along with candy –"

"They gave me a whole box of Malteezers! And cool band-aids!"

Evelyn rolled her eyes at her brother's comment. "That sort of thing. They even cleared debris from street, offered accommodation to people whose homes were destroyed and ensured that any collateral damage done by the villains would be paid for in full – even though that sort of stuff is usually covered by insurance. It was… amazing honestly." Evelyn let out a small frown.

"I don't think Batman has ever done even half of that. I've definitely never heard of him giving candy and first-aid to the injured before." She paused, "Or any heroes really – not even The Flash or… or Superman."

"It's not their jobs to treat the wounded."

"It's not their jobs to fight crime either – but they do that all the same." She argued. "I always thought we wouldn't be able to survive in Gotham without superheroes or the Batman… but I guess I was wrong."

"Oh, oh! Let's turn on the TV, I think they're going to say something about it today!"

I did my best not to allow a mischievous smirk on my face as we moved to the living room and put on the news.

"… _And today, C.E.O of Legend Industries, Makarov Dreyer, makes a louder statement than we ever imagined, by introducing his personal private army, The Legionnaires, into the streets of Gotham to combat crime. With the Batman still missing in action, and the rest of the Batfamily unable to raise a finger to stop the disastrous threat of the villains of Gotham – The Legionnaires rallied, arrived, and decimated the threats in unbelievable record times. Peace was restored to Gotham – and it was Peace brought by a new face."_

" _The Legionnaires are the new symbol of hope for Gotham City – providing aid, shelter, food, and supplies to the people in its darkest hour –"_

" _Even as Gotham suffers the effects of The Disheartening, Makarov Dreyer refused to sit idly by and presents his own solution to the problems of the City – an elite force dedicated to keeping the people safe and keeping them happy. Now, we can truly begin to push behind the Massacre behind us, and focus on healing and a better tomorrow – "_

" _This is Vicki Vale reporting, here, live, as Makarov Dreyer finally makes an announcement to the public in the grand hall of Legend Industries – "_

I stared into the screen, unable to keep my lips from twitching. Nezumi better have rehearsed the lines enough.

" _For too long, this city has relied on one man as its symbol of hope. For too long, we have looked upwards to the sky and the signal, feeling satisfied that there is a man out there who saves us from the monsters. But has he? Has he really? Has Batman's presence not only acerbated the problems? Have we been too awed by vigilante caped crusaders and their hollow victories that we failed to see the roots of the problem?"_

 _Shake of the head._

" _Today, Batman was not present, and the city faced a great threat. The police could not stop it. The so-called heroes were powerless to stop it. A tragedy could have occurred, another one, so close after the former, because what? Because we rely too much on these heroes. Because we are unable to accept, that in all the years of crime-fighting, Batman has not reduced crime in Gotham. Because we, ourselves, require a hero."_

 _Arms outstretched._

" _But no – no longer. What we need, is order. What we need, is stability. We do not need heroes. We, ourselves, are heroes. And so, it is with that reasoning, that I founded the Legionnaires, to rise up and defend the people in a time where our heroes failed to do so. During the Gotham Massacre, there was nothing that could be done. They were not rallied in time to save the lives of countless, they were not ready. It is, and it will forever be, my greatest regret."_

 _Pause._

" _But today – today, they were ready. Today, the people of Gotham were saved. Not with a man in a mask and fancy gadgets, but they were saved, by people, people like them. People with discipline, training, heart, and passion. People who care about this city, and care about the people inside this city. Gotham doesn't need heroes, it needs people. People like you, and people… like me."_

 _Dramatic ascension._

" _It is with that reasoning, that I announce, I, Makarov Dreyer, will be running for Mayor of Gotham City. Because I want to fix this city, and I want to fix it, not with heroes, but with people."_

 _Mic. Drop._

And…. Scene.

"Well now…" I said, breaking the thick, awestruck silence in the room. "…isn't that guy just so swell?"

Their expressions were just wondrous. Still, I couldn't help the nagging suspicion that I was forgetting something… something very important. Something I was supposed to have done.

Whatever it was – I think I could handle it.

* * *

XXXXX

* * *

 **Unknown Location**

"Your plan didn't work," A woman said, grinding her teeth. "Even after hiring Deadshot of all people to kill all the guards and instigate the breakout – we did not succeed in luring out the Consultant. Instead, we gave a billionaire the necessary ammunition to launch a political career."

The man was eerily silent. "I will admit… I did not account for the possibility of another player on the board. This… Makarov Dreyer is it? Such a man with such ambition… it was an error to overlook him."

"I still believe the Consultant is dead and all of this is a waste of our time."

"Now, do not be too hasty in rushing to assumptions. The Consultant… his lack of an appearance would mean that he anticipated Dreyer's Legionnaires. To possess such foresight… it only makes him far more interesting."

"Well… what now?"

"Now? Now – we wait. We wait, until the wildcard arrives on the board."

* * *

XXXXX

* * *

 **Somewhere in Gotham City**

" _What we need, is order. What we need, is stability. We do not need heroes. We, ourselves, are heroes –"_

The sound of shattering glass and electrical sparks echoed in the vast room.

"Yay! I got another one!" a woman's voice called out, before it let out a long hum "Whadd'ya think of this guy Mistah J? He called us heroes!"

A man rose in the darkness.

"Well now, I guess we'll have to prove him wrong, won't we pudding?" A dark grin flashed as a painted face emerged. "We'll have to show him, just how wrong he is."


	15. The Grass is Always Greener

**So apparently, some people's version of being 'thick-skinned' is "staying quiet and letting people bitch and whine without saying or doing anything to call them out on their bitching or whining, because silence is golden" And their version of being thin-skinned is 'calling out bitchers and whiners for what they are because only thin-skinned people have a need to do that.'**

 **... Yeah, let's go with that then.**

 **So this fic is at a 100k words. Updates will probably slow down a bit from here on out though. A hundred thousand words in seven months is waayyy more than I thought I could pump out for a story, without even hitting the halfway point yet.**

 **Also, peeps keep saying they'd pay to read one of my works if I had an original story - well, in order to give people the opportunity to put their money where their mouth is and avoid being called a liar, I've started work on what should be the first part of my multi-part novel series. I'll have it out latest by the end of the month on Amazon as a test-run. I think this is better than going to create a damned Pat - e -on account like tons of writers on this site do - and get money from peeps illegally. (No seriously, I've seen peeps that actually _ask_ to be paid for their fanfiction, with shitty cover-ups like "this money isn't for fan fics, but for you to support me to explore my writing career." Like what the fuck?)**

 **Whatever. I'm just here to write stuff to vent.**

* * *

 **DC - Remastered Edition**

* * *

 **Watchtower**

" _Worldwide recognition and focus has been placed on Gotham City's Makarov Dreyer, the C.E.O. of Legend Industries, in concern to his now famous, ground-breaking speech – 'We are all heroes.'."_

" _Some have accused Mr. Dreyer of anti-vigilantism, and claim that the billionaire's speech was not an address merely to Batman, but to the entirety of the World's Heroes –"_

" _The billionaire Mayor-Candidate's words have sparked worldwide controversy and global debate in relation to the current status of superhero vigilante justice which has prevailed the country for years – it also questions the effectiveness of these tactics, and if it truly is wise to put the lives of millions in the hands of few individuals –"_

" _Mr. Dreyer has made it clear should he be elected for Mayor of Gotham – all forms of vigilantism will be considered illegal, and depending on the severity, one could spend fifteen-to-life. This controversial decision, Dreyer claims, will be for the betterment of mankind and humanity –"_

" _Strong support has fallen in favor of the billionaire mayoral candidate – particularly, Metropolis' richest man, Lex Luthor, publicly displayed not only his support for Mr. Dreyer's decision to run for mayor, but also his stance on vigilantism and his approach on cleaning the streets of Gotham –"_

" _The Justice League, who are still under fire from failing to act to save the lives of Gotham civilians during the Gotham Massacre, have so far refused to comment on Makarov Dreyer's speech."_

" _In other news, while the hashtags #WeAreAllHeroes and #VotefortheLegend reach number one trending worldwide on social media, the people of Gotham also wait with baited breath for the case of the disgraced Billionaire, Bruce Wayne, who has not been seen since the Gotham Massacre, and who is now required in court to face allegations of embezzlement of funds and suspected fraud –"_

The T.V. went off with a simple click. There was silence in the room, thick, overflowing silence that wrapped around the people present like a gloved hand.

"Well… that happened."

The silence was broken by a man in a red suit, a red-suit that was made with nanocarbon fiber weaves to enable it immune to the extremities of speed and friction. He turned his gaze around to everyone in the room, from the man in green, to the woman and red-white and blue, to the green man, the hawk man and woman, the aquatic man, and finally, the man of steel.

"I believe this is a… rather delicate situation," the Green Man said, placing his hands on the table and focusing.

"Delicate? What is delicate about this?" The man in green said, a scowl on his face. "Did you listen to the same speech I did? This man _clearly_ has it out for heroes –"

"And can we truly blame him?" the Green Man interrupted smoothly.

The man in green scowled even harder. "What?"

"If you would forgive my lack of modesty, Green Lantern, but I am the most powerful telepath on the planet. In the aftermath of the massacre that injured Batman, I felt it – the fear and hopelessness and disillusionment of millions." The green man shook his head. "We failed them. We failed to rescue them – because we were content to believe that Batman could handle any threat posed in his city by himself. The Flash or Superman could have sped to Gotham, captured the Consultant and imprisoned him within seconds – but because we decided to entrust the safety of Gotham to one person – and as a result of that oversight, we doomed the lives of thousands."

"Batman has always been able to handle crime in Gotham by himself!"

"Has he? Has he truly?" the Green Man countered, "Even with all the years of Batman's presence in that city – it's crime rate is at least 50% greater than that of any other city patrolled by any other hero. Metropolis, Central City, Washington D.C., Starling City – the presence of heroes has cut down the crime rates. But in Gotham?"

"I don't quite like what you're trying to imply, Manhunter." The Man of Steel said, his arms crossed.

"The truth is rarely ever liked Superman. And that is what this is – the truth. It is the same reason as to why we all feel uncomfortable with Makarov Dreyer's words, because we are aware – that to an extent, what he said _is_ true."

There was a thick, uncomfortable silence in the room. The Martian Manhunter was one of the few truly objective people in the Justice League, due to the fact that Earth was not truly his planet, and would never be his people. Unlike Superman, who had grown and lived on earth and come to accept humans as his people and race, the Martian was in more ways than one, an outsider. His telepathic powers also gave him further insight into the minds of people on earth, and when kept in addition with his constantly cool demeanor, it made him one of the best people to render completely unbiased judgement.

"I know you have thought this through, Superman," Manhunter said, "And I understand your misgivings. Batman is an ally to all of us, but to you, he is a close friend. You may not wish to believe or accept that a man as brilliant as Batman has been failing for years – but the results speak volumes. It is only in Gotham City where we have truly vile and malicious individuals such as the Joker, and now, The Consultant – a teenage boy who slaughtered thousands because he felt they were all criminals and all worthy of death."

Superman's face scrounged up. He could still remember it – encountering the Consultant for the first time. Seeing the man who hurt his friend, who killed thousands – he was ready to fight. Ready to completely and mercilessly bring in this criminal –

Only for him to realize something was wrong as he gazed at the Consultant. There was a haze all over him. So, he switched from his normal vision to Infrared and X-Ray. Then, he saw it –

A blonde boy that could be no older than sixteen.

He hadn't known what to do – what to say – the fact that a young _child_ had done so much damage. The way the boy held himself, the way he gazed at the Justice League, Superman saw it. He saw a boy who didn't see heroes, who didn't see beacons of light – no, the boy's gaze reminded Superman of children who stood in front of an arcade videogame, ready to play and beat the high-score. He had seen the Justice League as a challenge, his face, his heartbeat, the pumping of blood – he had been _excited_ , no _thrilled_.

The boy was _thrilled_ to stand against them.

Then, upon realizing how hopelessly outmatched he was – how completely impossible it was for him to succeed –

He killed himself.

In those final few seconds, Superman had watched as the boy slumped, and he had never felt anything like it in his life. It was like the boy's entire will to live had vanished – like his soul had been ripped out of his body – his face had been blank, hollow, like a tortured child who had broken past all repair. And then – he felt it, the build-up of power.

He had rushed forward, trying to stop the boy – but all his speed was for naught against what seemed to be an internal dead-man switch. So he watched, and he watched, as organs and blood and body parts were disintegrated by fire, sent soaring by shockwaves. The explosion had done little to damage him, and when it was over, there was not even an atom left of the boy.

What kind of place could push a child to do something like that? What kind of upbringing could a boy have had to commit such atrocities? To what end? For what purpose? Such a boy would have used those powers for good – used those powers to _help_ people –

If Superman had met him earlier, he would have tried to save him. To convert him off a path of blood and darkness. He would have tried to make him exemplary.

But, he hadn't met him earlier. No – Batman had met him. Batman would have no way of realizing he was not facing a truly malevolent killer, but a misguided child. Batman would have not bothered with conversation. Batman would have attempted to arrest him and bring him to justice – and for that reason alone, he would have failed.

"Have we been arrogant… all this while?"

The question threw most of the Justice League for a loop. The Man of Steel turned his gaze on them, his eyes hardened.

"Each of us here – we do our best to patrol our cities – but that mentality – _our cities_ – has it been arrogant of us? To have our own miniature 'territories' and to pay no heed to what goes on in another's place?"

"Wait – wait – so… you want us to go to another city and start saving kitties from trees there?" The Flash asked, his eyebrow raised slightly.

"And why can't we?" Superman asked with a smile. "Why can't the Flash visit Metropolis, and help save cats from trees?" He turned to Wonder Woman, "Why can't Wonder Woman visit Central City and help some people cross the street?" He turned to Green Lantern, "And why can't the Green Lantern help out in Washington every once in a while?"

"Because it's not our –"

"Not our cities, or not our place?" Superman interrupted. "We are the Justice League. We are not the protectors of _cities_ , but the protectors of _earth_."

Superman slowly clenched his fist, his expressions morphing into one of defeat.

"I can't stop thinking about that boy. The Consultant. I can't stop thinking about how I could have saved him. How I could have helped him – if only I knew."

"Saved _him?_ What about the thousands he slaughtered?" Green Lantern argued.

Superman shook his head. "By saving him, we would have _saved_ those thousands." He sighed. "It's the same with a lot of our villains. Had we saved them before they could fall – we would have saved thousands as a result. If you could have stopped Sinestro from ever defecting the Green Lantern corps – can you imagine how many lives you would have saved as a result?"

The Green Lantern looked like he'd swallowed a rather unpleasant lemon.

"I want to _save_ as many people as I can. I want to _help_ as many people as I can. And not just from world-ending threats or from alien invasions, or from bank robberies or muggings – but to truly, _save_ them."

The rest of the Justice League stared up at the Man of Steel, and they were reminded, once more, why he was considered the greatest man on the planet. A lot of what they did constituted fighting evil and crime and inspiring awe and safety in the populace, from Green Lantern to Wonder Woman, to The Flash. That was what they did – they inspired awe and they assured people that they were safe. But Superman?

Superman inspired _hope_.

Superman was the only one who did that.

"There was one thing that Mr. Dreyer got right in his speech. The world doesn't need heroes." Superman shook his head.

"It needs saviors."

He turned to all of them.

"It needs us."

* * *

 **XXXX**

* * *

 **Watchtower**

 **Infirmary Ward**

A man lay on a bed, staring silently at the screen which lay in front of him.

" _It needs us._ "

He closed his eyes. And then, they snapped open with tremendous force. The man rolled off from his bed, his eyes staring at his hands, or rather, what was left of his hands. Two stumps extending from the shoulders glared back at him, and he, in turn, glared back at it. He glared at the final stump – a leg.

Some people would gaze down at the stumps and see a reason to stop. Others would see a reason to give up. Others would feel extreme dread and horror. Others, perhaps, would have broken down.

He looked at the stumps, and he rolled to the bed and dropped himself to the ground. He grit his teeth to hold back the agonizing roar of pain that threatened to escape from his lips. And then he pushed. And he pushed. And he used his head as a balance. He forced his stomach to clench. He ignored bandages, ignored pain. And he pushed.

And he stood.

On one leg. With no arms.

He stood.

And he would keep standing.

He would keep standing.

As long as there was injustice. As long as there was crime. As long as there was evil.

He would keep standing.

"C-computer. Call. Alfred Pennyworth."

* * *

 **XXXX**

* * *

 **Elsewhere**

Betty Hammond did not like this at all.

Being the secretary of Mayor Hamilton Hill was not an easy job in the slightest, and she already had to deal with significant issues in the Mayor's current bid to get re-elected. Her workload was compounding day by day, doing her best to handle a lot of the paperwork that the Mayor was always either 'too busy' or 'too preoccupied' to do. If people knew that a lot of the Mayor's ratifications and decisions were made in proxy by his secretary – well, things would end badly.

Now, she knew things were going to be bad if Makarov Dreyer had joined the race. A self-made billionaire – it was clear that Makarov was not entering the political office for monetary gains. Oh no, it was clear that _when_ he won – because she would be lying if she said Hamilton Hill held a chance – there would be some major changes going on. Gotham would be transformed. The problem of course, was the matter of playing the farce of supporting Hill.

Monetary wise, Dreyer was set to launch a campaign that would dwarf theirs, because they did not have billions to spare. Impact wise, Legend Industries focused on all branches of the society, their companies manufactured everything from common paper, to expensive super-cars. Their farms provided produce from eggs and milks, to strawberries and vegetables. The internship programs and workshops, training tutorials, and vast community colleges and schools built or provided by Legend Industries also meant they had a _lot_ of people who would be willing to vote for Dreyer.

In contrast, Hamilton Hill had… what?

All his major supporters, the Crime Families – all of them had been killed in the Massacre. Bruce Wayne was MIA and was currently embroiled in a massive embezzlement scandal – and their funding was essentially non-existent. The only reason the Mayor had not withdrawn from the race was due to stubborn pride, and due to running mostly unopposed.

The secretary shook her head and let out a long sigh. Working such long hours here in the office was going to be bad for her health. Now, what she wanted more than anything was to go back home and take a long, relaxing –

Her eyes immediately widened as a pair of gloved hands wrapped around her nose and mouth. She tried to struggle, but found all her attempts in vain – the grip was strong, far too strong. She smelt something on the gloves, and she felt her strength begin to rapidly drain away, drain away until there was almost nothing else left – and she slowly slipped in and out of consciousness.

"Target Neutralized. Soul Profile Obtained: Betty Hammond. Commencing Take Over."

Her hazy mind could have sworn that the person that was standing over her, with dark brown hair and familiar hazelnut eyes was… her?

"Take Over Completed. This is Agent 041 of the Aphrodite Division, requesting transfer of obsolete target."

Betty wasn't sure what happened next. The memory was hazy – too hazy – portals, soldiers, hallways –

All of it was too much to take, and so – she passed out.

She awoke to the sound of screams, begs, yells, and desperate cries. And she did not like it in the slightest.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~~~~~

* * *

 **Zack's Underground Fortress**

She wasn't sure where she was. She didn't know. She couldn't' remember anything – well, not mch anyway. The basics were still clear, like who she was and what she did – the innate connection to the green ensured her that she would never be able to forget her origins. As did her green-tinted skin which made it clear to anyone who even had so much as a glancing look at her that she was more than human. The absorption of chlorophyll into her bloodstream to deliver her with all the nutirents she needed had also provided her with a healthy green skin.

Though, said skin had certaintly seen better days.

She stared around in a small room, realizing, that it was, for all intents and purposes, a four by four iron box. She almost sneered at it. Did they really think that she could be kept in something this limiting? To be restrained in an iron box of all things?

"Come to me my babies!"

Plants everywhere would gather, they would crush this feeble iron as though it were nothing. She would find herself freed once more.

Nothing happened.

She frowned. "Come to me!"

She reached out, searching for the plant life that dominated the earth, that should have been abundant everywhere on the face of the planet.

Nothing.

"Impossible!"

It was not possible. It was not conceiveable. As long as humans existed, so did plants. It was impossible for there to be no plants anywhere near her for what? Several thousand kilometers? That was her maximum effective range, but as far as she could sense, there were no plants anywhere.

She growled. If that were the case, then she would need to create her own. She rose her hands up, calling upon her power. "Rise babies!"

…Nothing.

Now, she was getting worried. Even the most stubborn and persistent of weeds, the dandelion, scutch grass, field bindweed, chickweed, creeping thistle – all of them refused to grow. These were some plants capable of growing in a tiny crack of concrete, and yet, they could not grow. There was something seriously wrong. What was going on? Why couldn't she use her powers? Why were her babies refusing to grow?

Before she could question it even further, she watched as a large portion of the metal room suddenly gained lines, and then, a door appeared, swinging open. From within, a young man stepped forward. He was masked in an eerie looking thing that almost looked as though it were made from the bones of a human being. His hair was thick and blonde, and his figure was easily intimidating, despite being cloaked completely in black robes.

" **Pamela Isley.** " The man said in a voice that sounded like a blend between a growl and a grunt. " **Congratulations on waking up. No doubt you have already attempted to utilize your powers and watch them fail. I can assure you that is of my doing. As long as you are here – I am essentially god. I applied a rule which said you cannot use your powers, and that rule has been written into reality.** "

She couldn't tell whether he was joking or bluffing, but it was not the first time she had met such a man with an over-inflated ego. "And who are you exactly?"

" **That matters very little. What matters right now, is you. Poison Ivy. Eco-terrorist, supervillain – short-sighted petty misandrist. As of now, I hold your life literally in my hands, and it would be best if you were to co-operate if you wish to continue your current existence."**

She snarled. "Who do you think you –" Her words never left her throat as parts of the metal room rose, extending into iron clad hands which immediately wrapped around her mouth. More iron shifted, as if being commanded by an unseen force, and she suddenly realized that she was now essentially placed on a cross.

" **I have** _ **easier**_ **ways of guaranteeing your complete and utter obedience, but I prefer things given** _ **freely**_ **rather than taken forcefully.** " The voice said easily. " **But if you truly must know who I am –** "

In a flash, the mask was gone. The dark cloak was stripped off, and in its place, was an attractive young man with blonde hair and startling blue eyes. It was a face that people had gotten to know courtesy of a video recording, where this same man had unleashed a horse upon the niece of Carmine Falcone, and laughed giddily in the background as the equine pounded into the hapless woman.

"I take it you know who I am?" He said with flourish and a long bow. "Of course you do, those eyes of yours say it all."

The Villain-Killer. The man with the most sickeningly brutal methods of exacting 'justice.' A mass murderer that nearly surpassed the clown prince of crime.

"Now, I'm going to allow you to speak – and we're going to have a conversation, consultant to client."

As he said that, the metal hands covering her mouth vanished. That did not do anything in the slightest to ease her uneasiness however.

"What... what do you want with me?"

He made a gesture of thinking.

"Hmm… I want a sex slave that can't get knocked up."

She felt the blood drain completely from her face.

"…Is probably what I'd say if I wanted to spook you." He added dryly, amusement clear on his face. "I didn't think anyone could pale so quickly. Doubly impressive considering your skin is tinted green."

She grit her teeth.

"Alright – fine, fine no jokes." He said, raising his hands dismissively. "The truth is, I wanted to consult you."

" _Consult me?_ " Ivy repeated, unable to believe she just heard those words.

"Hmm." The Consultant nodded. "You see, I honestly could not care less about plants, or the environment, or the sanctity of earth and what not that you seem to want to champion at every turn and every corner. Because honestly, at the end of the day, none of that matters. And I don't mean that in the nihilistic sense –" he shook his head. "In time, we will attempt to colonize mars, and then move on to other planets in our solar system – in which case, what constitutes as a 'plant' will be so far removed from what you know and value today. Of course, this will be in several years when you will most likely be long dead – so, I suppose there's no point regardless."

"Your _point_ being?"

"Oh, yes!" He snapped his fingers as though remembering something. "My point is – you, Poison Ivy, are a ridiculous fool who's sheer stupidity and ineptitude baffles me."

"Excuse me?!"

"For someone with a Doctorate, you are incredibly stupid. Waging crusades and wars against Gotham City and Batman in some attempt at making people become eco-friendly? Was that _really_ all you could think about using your powers to do?" The Consultant shook his head, and then, out of nowhere, a globe appeared in his hand.

"If you wanted to make the world a better place," he spun the globe "How about attempting to solve some of its major problems first?"

"You don't think deforestation is a major problem?" she said, getting angry, "You don't think the cutting down of innocent trees and plant life to make pointless furniture and _paper_ is a problem?"

"Well no." The Consultant said with a shrug. "Not in light of things like world hunger and starvation. Or poverty."

"And what am I supposed to do about any of that?"

Again, the Consultant sighed. "You see – this is why I said you're stupid. Tell me Ivy – you have the ability to instantaneously make plants grow. You can drop a seed on the ground, and in a few seconds, you have a fully grown sentient tree ready to maul a man to death. Sometimes, you don't even _need_ a seed – you just snap your fingers and have a miniature Garden of Eden at your beck and call."

That was… true.

"Do you see where I'm going with this?" The Consultant said with a shake of his head. "You, Pamela Isley, have the power, the potential, and the ability to end world hunger. _Forever_. Multiply harvests, refresh dried fruits, create the finest quality grains ever seen in the world. You could do this and sell it for a fortune, or, if you were the generous type, give it for _free_ – and become forever immortalized in the pages of history as the woman who solved world hunger."

Her face was blank. Her mind was running at several miles an hour, speeding and questioning.

"Instead – what did you do? What are you? A glorified eco-terrorist who fails to beat a man in a bat-costume. So… _stupid_."

"I would never – do you even know what you're asking me to do?" She argued, "My plants, they're my –"

"Your _babies_." The Consultant interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "Oh yes, they're your babies. Your precious little darlings. If you care so much about edible plants that have been grown for millennia for the purpose of consumption, why don't you push for anti-vegan lifestyles? Why don't you attack vegetarians and tell them all to go eat their pet dogs? Would you feel better if everyone became meat eaters instead?"

No… no she wouldn't. That would just be… cruel… so many innocent animals –

"So, what exactly _is_ your justification, Ivy?" The Consultant asked with a tut. "Why haven't you used your powers for the greater good of mankind?" He probed further. "The way I see it, if you had done that, you'd have a lot more weight when you championed for people to stop cutting down trees and removing national parks. You'd be like Mother Theresa – only sexier and greater. If you told people that they shouldn't cut trees, do you really think they'd want to argue with the woman who ended world hunger? Do you think they _could?_ "

Of course not. To do so would invoke immediate backlash. She could already see it – already envision how it would play out, already realize just how much good she could do –

End world hunger?

It sounded like a farfetched plan. An over-the-top dream. Yet, in a world with godlike alien beings, was something like ending world hunger so unreachable? If anything, shouldn't it be easier?

The gears were already turning in her head. She could see it – she could actually see herself doing it. She could envision sickly and malnourished children happily eating from bowls. She could see starving families enthusiastically enjoying meals. She could…

She stopped her train of thought and immediately remembered where she was, and who she was with.

"I don't understand. You – you kidnapped me and bound me, just for the sole purpose of giving me a way to cure world hunger? Why?"

The young man took a flourishing bow. "I am the Consultant. I didn't pick the name out of a hat you know. Originally, I was going for a Moriarty-styled 'Criminal Consultant' role – but kind of lost it after my little war with Falcone."

"What you're doing is anything _but_ criminal," she paused, "Aside from kidnapping me that is. Ending world hunger – do you know just how many lives will be saved? How many places and countries will develop? Just how much change and progress that could bring?"

"I don't really care."

She blinked at the admission.

"You – you don't?"

"No."

"Then… why?"

The Consultant actually shrugged.

"Because I can. I do things, because I can, and because I feel like it, and no reason else." It was the first time seeing what seemed like genuine emotion on the young man's face. "Today, I decide to end world hunger, tomorrow, I decide to pick up a prostitute, fuck her into unconsciousness, and then kill her like I'm playing GTA in real life. I do things because I can."

He gave her an eerie look. "I won't lie, the thought of fucking you did cross my head almost a hundred times."

She felt eerily cold.

"And while I could have, I didn't truly feel up to it. Turns out, green nipples aren't really that attractive."

She had absolutely no idea as to what to say to that.

The Consultant – he was… confusing. It felt like he was putting on an act half of the time, and he felt as though he was being serious some other times. More than that however, was the duality of his nature. As far as Ivy knew, villains were villains and heroes were heroes. There was no intertwining the two, because you would stray towards one alignment or the other. People like Catwoman, despite being known to aid heroes once in a while, was predominantly a thief. She did not do good out of the goodness of her heart, she only did it when it benefited her.

But a person who did good and evil in random amounts? A man who could be seen petting a dog one moment, and then turning around to slam a steel-toed boot into a pregnant cat another moment? What was she to make of such a person? How did one even go categorizing such a person?

"Anyway – I believe I've made my case. Stop wasting your time in Gotham – and go do something actually worthwhile."

He snapped his fingers, and what appeared like a portal, a literal hole in space and time appeared.

"This portal leads to Johannesburg, South Africa. Meet up with the Legend Industries branch open there, and they'll get you started on ways to end world hunger without running into much legal issues."

The metal holding her captive melted away, leaving her completely free, and she stared at the Consultant in complete disbelief.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." He added with a shrug.

"I mean – my criminal past, my records, my –"

"All of that will be handled. New documents will be ready for you upon your arrival, and you'll be registered underneath the Legend Industries Metahuman Reformation International Company. Codenamed: Limerick." He said smoothly.

She still couldn't believe this. She couldn't believe it. Was this person truly evil?

"And that's it? You – you don't want anything else from me?"

"As I said – green nipples,"

"Stop mentioning my nipples!" she growled. "I – I can't believe this. There has to be some sort of catch – no one – _no one_ is this – this –"

"You've unfortunately grown with the ideology that no one in the world can do anything without having a selfish reason for it," The Consultant said dryly. "And you're right. I _do_ have a selfish reason for this."

She relaxed slightly. "I knew it."

"Getting you permanently out of Gotham is my reason. Not as if you have anything that keeps you attached to the place anyway." The Consultant admitted. "Now, do you want to remain in a metal cell, or do you want to go out and change the world?"

She stared at the portal, first, with slight hesitation she walked forward towards it.

"I–I don't know what to say."

"How about you save the hysterics for after you win the Nobel Peace Prize?"

She rolled her eyes, but without much heat to them. "Thank you," she said earnestly. With a deep breath, she stepped through the portal.

Ready to change the world.

* * *

XXXX

* * *

The portal closed with a hint of finality, leaving me standing alone in the metal room.

"I take it she's gone Master Zack?"

I nodded. "She is."

"And she does not suspect a thing?"

I shook my head, allowing a fantastic twitch of my lips. "She believed that she just woke up – and I didn't want anything from her except to consult her about ways to end world hunger."

I turned around to look at Nezumi. Nezumi looked back at me.

And I immediately burst out laughing. I couldn't help it. My ribs hurt and ached as I laughed harder than I'd probably ever done in my entire life. Oh gods, that was rich. That was the richest thing ever.

The reality, however, was far much more different.

"I must say Master Zack, I have never seen a more perfectly executed plan." Nezumi praised. "Time-Dilation effect placed on the Fort, to make a day inside the fort pass as a minute outside of it. Utilizing your **Soul Conditioning** on Poison Ivy to make her work on your drug without question, without hesitation, without complaint – bedding her numerous times, and then wiping her memories of everything and restoring her to default after she spent over six months working on what you needed." The Butler slowly clapped. "Ingenious."

I took a long, courteous bow. "Thank you – thank you –" I said with flourish, before standing back straight a grin on my face. "This, Nezumi, is what I mean about fighting _smart_ rather than _strong_. As far as Ivy knows, The Consultant is a swell but somewhat confusing guy who never did a thing to harm her. She never worked for him. She never helped him bio-genetically engineer a drug that used aspects of her poisonous kiss in co-ordination with Scarecrow's fear venom. She never gave him blowjobs every other night, or let him fuck her senseless on top of a table."

"Or in front of an army of homunculi," Nezumi added.

"Or _by_ a lesbian homunculi." I added as well, grinning. "I _was_ being honest with her though. Green nipples aren't that attractive after you've jizzed on them several dozen times."

"Do tell Master Zack."

I almost wanted to roll my eyes at that comment. "One of these days, Nezumi – one of these days, I need to show you the pleasant glory that it sex. One of these days, I'll make sure you get laid."

"I can merely take someone from the Aphrodite Division and do so… or perhaps I could summon a succubi demon from hell?"

I rose an eyebrow at that. "You can summon demons from hell?"

"Master Zack, as I said, for you –"

"–You can do anything. I get it, I get it." I said with a wave. "In any case, I've spent six months - or one hundred and eighty days working on my super drug and screwing Ivy senseless. How much time has passed back in the normal world?"

"One-hundred and eighty minutes, Master Zack. That is – three hours."

I blinked. "Wow." I said, unsure of what else could convey my surprise. "Time Dilation is ridiculously useful. Why the hell didn't I ever just enter an instant dungeon and train for a few thousand years like I made you do?"

"Because you would be terribly, incredibly bored Master Zack." Nezumi said simply. "That much time passing spent on nothing but physical training would be the most boring experience ever experienced by a living being."

"I… actually can't argue with that."

Grinding was not fun in videogames. In real life, it was a hundred times less fun.

"Alright – now, let's see how far we've gone in completing the list."

 **The Evil Overlord List** **–** **Part I**

 **It's time to fight smart and not hard. To avoid idiotic mistakes, and to take the smartest path to victory. Cheating? Underhanded tactics? Cowardly behavior? I think you mean – Common Sense.**

 **Main Objectives:**

 **Item One: Kidnap/Abduct Scarecrow and Poison Ivy to create the Super-Drug [Completed]**

 **Item Two: Create an army of Homunculi [Completed]**

 **Item Three: Have your army infiltrate the Police and have them distribute Super-Drug**

 **Item Four: Makarov Dreyer Runs For Mayor [Complete]**

 **Item Five: 'Reform' the Villains of Gotham**

 **Bonus Objectives:**

 **Allergic to Red: Make your army an antithesis to Stormtroopers and Redshirts**

 **On Their Own Volition: Have any Villain/Hero join your cause without forcing them**

 **Total Makeover-City Edition: Eliminate Gotham's Crime Rate/Turn Gotham to a Utopia**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Rewards:**

 **Title: God of Gotham**

 **1.3m EXP**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Failure:**

 **Death/Incarceration**

 **Anarchy of Gotham**

"So, I'm done with items one, two, and four… all that's left is Item three and five. Item three is the easiest thing to do so far, with the Altair Division already in place – so, it'll just be Item Five left." I mused out loud, looking over the quest info again.

"Master Zack, if I may… what exactly is this Super-Drug that you required Poison Ivy's saliva and Scarecrow's Toxins to create?" Nezumi questioned, "Can anything created from such a volatile combination of actually be beneficial?"

I grinned, before I brought out a small packet filled with pills and rose it into the air. "I call it, the Neuro-Zenithal-Transformer. Or for short –"

 **Mastercraft Item:**

 **NZT**

 **Quality: Divine**

 **A Part-Synthetic, Part-Plant based drug synthesized from a combination of the unique mind-altering saliva of Poison Ivy, the potent hallucinogenic poison of the mind of Scarecrow, and the altered ingredients and magical machinations of Zachariah Cabrera. The effects vary based on user and purpose, but however are focused on targeting the limbic system. Focusing on the hippocampus, amygdala, cingulate gyrus, thalamus, hypothalamus, and epithalamia. The effects may also stretch into the primary motor cortex and supplementary motor cortex.**

 **Buffs/Positive Effects:**

 **Grants +500 Intelligence for 24 Hours**

 **Grants +200 Charisma for 24 Hours**

 **Grants +100 Dexterity for 24 Hours**

 **Grants +100 Endurance for 24 Hours**

 **Grants +100 Strength for 24 Hours**

 **Chance to gain buff: [Euphoric Bliss]**

 **Chance to gain buff: [Greater Euphoric Bliss]**

 **Chance to gain buff: [Immense Euphoric Bliss]**

 **Debuffs/Negative Effects:**

– **100 Wisdom for 24 Hours**

 **Chance to inflict Debuff: [Sensory Overload]**

 **Inflicts Permanent Debuff: [NZT Addiction]**

 **Inflicts Permanent Debuff: [Command: Love and Adore]**

"I've essentially created a drug that can make you confident, make you high, make you horny, make you athletic, and make you _smarter_ – all in one dose." I said with a grin. "By taking Poison Ivy's ability to kiss people and control them, the saliva and chemicals inherent in her and then combing it with a version Scarecrow's toxin, which, rather than causing you to feel _fear_ , does the opposite, making you _stop_ feeling fear and start feeling confident and aroused – and then adding some tinkering of my own with magic – I have created, the perfect Omni-Drug."

The drug increased their Intelligence, but reduced their Wisdom. This meant, whilst I would have mini-Einstein's capable of super-calculation and capable of making logical thoughts and creating marvels, they'd be unable to ask _why_ they should create certain marvels or do certain things. I would essentially be creating an army of Dexters… or even better, an army of Doctor Doofenshmirtz.

Capable of creating world-revolutionary ideas and inventions, but utterly hopeless when it came to applying it to any real-term problems. Utter hopeless, without my help of course.

The drug was _immediately_ addictive – meaning that a single pill would make you addicted, no ifs, or buts.

"Now, all that's left is to create it en mass and begin distribution – and then, that'll be another item clean off the list."

"All that would remain, Master Zack, would be your Item Five?"

I nodded, and frowned. "Unfortunately, to complete Item Five, I need to become Mayor of Gotham. With my money, these drugs, and my power, winning is not an issue. The only issue is with the red tape and the time. We're in November – the Elections aren't till _March_." I said with a growl. "That's five months. A whole five months. Anything could happen in five months – anything."

The problem was, there wasn't much I could do about it. I couldn't make them shift the election date any closer, not without drawing global suspicion. If I was running unopposed… I probably could… but even then, it was still going to be a stretch.

I clapped my hands loudly, drawing Nezumi's attention.

"Are there any other pressing issues we haven't attended to?"

"The captured individuals whose identities have been Taken Over by the Homunculi." Nezumi stated.

"How many do we have _?_ "

"Two hundred human males and one hundred human females in custody. One for each homunculi of the Aphrodite Division, Altair Division, and Unassigned Division." Nezumi said. "Of the human males, one hundred and fourteen of the adult human males are police officers in the line of duty. Thirty-six of them are administrative officials in Gotham's hierarchy and government. Fourteen more of them are court officials. The rest are miscellaneous individuals who were chosen for particular skillsets or access to information."

I rubbed my chin.

"Of the human females, thirty-two are secretaries or office workers. Sixteen are nurses, doctors or otherwise qualified individuals. Six are emergency line operators, fifteen are newspaper workers, journalists, and news anchors. Twelve are –"

"Are there any children amongst the captured people?" I interrupted.

"No Master Zack. There are teachers, principals, and guidance counselors, but no individual under the age of eighteen."

I rose an eyebrow. "Then why is this even an issue? Kill all the males and harvest their organs. Sell them in organ trafficking. As for the women – burn off their fingerprints, file their dentals, scramble their memories, and send them off into the prostitute trafficking ring. Might as well make a profit out of them."

Nezumi nodded. "Effective as always Master Zack. I am telepathically delivering that order now."

"Anything else?"

"Ah, yes… we have yet to deal with… The Joker."

I blinked. "Oh."

Yeah… he wasn't amongst the villains that were rounded up was he?

Had I actually almost forgotten about him? That would have been one hell of a major screw up. Or was it just that the Joker subconsciously did not register as a threat on my radar?

"Do you have his current location Nezumi?"

The butler nodded. "A hidden underground Toy Factory in downtown Gotham."

"Keep watch on him… and send some agents to shadow him at the same time. I want to know where he's been, what he's been doing, and who he's been talking to. I want to know _everything_ I can about him before I make a decision."

"A… decision, Master Zack?"

I nodded. "I'm not sure if this is Anarchist-Joker, whose a master manipulator and brilliant mind like the one I know from the Dark Knight Trilogy… or if this Clown-Joker, or Psycho-Joker, or Fourth-Wall-Breaker-Joker… depending on which one he turns out to be, I'll either eliminate him or recruit him."

Nezumi merely bowed, although I could tell he had some misgivings about the idea. "As you wish Master Zack, I will have the Joker followed."

"So… anything else we have going on?"

Nezumi shook his head. "Not necessarily Master Zack. Other than Makarov Dreyer's Campaign efforts, I believe there are no immediate tasks for you to attend to."

I wasn't sure why I felt partially relieved, and partially uncertain hearing that. For once, everything was going my way. Everything was moving along smoothly. My plan was in operation in full force, and in the months to come, I would have completely solidified my control over Gotham City. I would bring to it a revolution.

And I felt uneasy. Uneasy.

 _Things were going too well. Too according to plan._

I'd been surprised once by an unexpected outcome with Eva. Surprised a second time with an unexpected outcome with the Justice League. Both of those scenarios had occurred due to my own arrogance – my fatal flaw – my hubris.

As it stood, I didn't think I'd been overly cocky or confident so far – but I had no true way of telling. Part of me was still expecting to be completely blindsided by something from _somewhere_ that would throw a wrench in all my plans.

There wasn't much I could do now, except to be prepared for anything that came my way.

* * *

XXXXX

* * *

 _Dead_.

She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

 _John Constantine – dead_.

It seemed impossible, a feat that would never happen. For all of his bluster and showmanship, John Constantine was damn near un-killable. Nothing could put him down, be it the angels from heaven or the demons from below – not even interdimensional demons had succeeded in taking out John. He was just far too resilient for something like that.

Except – now, it had happened.

His light, his signature – it had been snuffed permanently from the surface of the earth.

His soul, which would normally have been sent to heaven or hell, and hence, he would be kicked out and be back in the mortal world – had been… _destroyed_. Or worse – _consumed_. All that made John Constantine – was gone, and he was gone for good.

She'd warned them about the demon – about a magical being with immense power to rival _Nabu_ – and she'd expected them, the Justice League, to do their best to take care of this threat. John had travelled from England to Gotham City just to take care of it! From _England!_ The League was supposed to be his back-up – because _surely_ a world-destroying, reality-altering entity was a significant concern?

But no.

They'd instead been focused on trying their best to save the life of Batman – and to catch some small time criminal who'd used a dark ritual to kill nearly all of Gotham's criminals and a few other civilians and police officers. She knew the work of dark magic when she saw it, she knew the work of complicated **Voodoo** rituals when she saw it – and it hadn't taken her long to realize that the Consultant or whatever he called himself, was a talented magician.

It also didn't take her long to realize, that an Eldritch Demon could not have manifested in the world all by itself, without an anchor.

The fool had most likely summoned the demon to aid him – but had no idea what he was dealing with, and lost control of it. He probably didn't even care, and let a world-destroying entity run wild unchecked. After all – if the Consultant truly was a mere teenager – he clearly had no idea as to what he was doing.

But she did.

Oh, _she did_.

She would find the boy – and she would torture every information about his magic out of him – and find a way to take down the Eldritch Demon herself.

And the Justice League?

She scoffed.

The good they had done for her cause so far. The good they had done to save the city. The good they had done to help Constantine.

No. She was done with the League. She was done with them. From now on, she was taking matters into her own hands.

The world had an idiotic, but immensely powerful teenage sorcerer and an Eldritch Demon strolling around as they pleased.

That needed to be corrected.

" _Ecnaegnev fo tirips, ouy ekovni, I em ni detstevni rewop eht yb_!"

By any means necessary.


	16. Aequitas I

**Man it's been awhile. Gotta shake off those cobwebs. Shake off those cobwebs I tell ya.**

 **I'm probably gonna stop writing Author's Notes every chapter. It's pointless to become an echo chamber doing the same thing of addressing haters and negative comments and shit, thereby irritating the cool guys who actually love the story.**

 **So here's the very last author's note you'll see in a while:**

 **All of You Who Said "Ghost Rider" in the reviews last chapter... Shame. Shame. This isn't the Marvel Universe. Shame on yourselves as DC fans. Shame.**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Iceberg Lounge**

Music.

The rhythmic beats and echoes of instruments, often accompanied with an elegant metrical voice. In this case, the voice was anything but elegant. Coarse words, interspaced lyrics, copious amounts of swearing, mentioning of human sexual anatomical parts, repeated use of 'ass' 'titties' and 'pussy' echoed in what some people would consider as music, or consider as _good_.

The objectivity of the music could only truly be put into question when taking into account those present in the room, listening to it. Females, scantily or sparsely dressed, their faces painted with different products to arrive at red-tinted lips and dark-flavored brows. Males, caring little for the dresses and outfits, their hips gyrating and turning in response to the oscillation of the female behinds.

Such was the nature of a nightclub. Overwhelmingly loud music, dark, cool environments, fog, strolling in from different machines, a man, standing center stage with oversized headphones on his neck, his head bobbing back and forth in response to the music like a lizard attempting to break a world record for push-ups. Occasionally, his hand would thrust into the air, the music would change to something with faster tempo and rhythm, and people would excitedly yell at the new beat, resuming their activities with far more fervor.

Of course, in places like this, environments filled with the hedonism and restless desire, the philosophy of living in the moment, the stench of alcohol and thick, human pheromones with primal sexual desire, there would be… _supplements_ provided, to attempt to _augment_ the experience.

This, of course, was where _they_ came in.

Him – clad in a thick hooded jacket, a shady looking appearance, a plastered, pastel smile, and completely unremarkable facial features, he made his way into the crowd of dancers.

Her – clad in a short red skirt that barely went past her thighs, a loose fitting top that showed generous amount of cleavage, lacking a bra and seemingly lacking any form of inhibitions, she danced wildly, flirted wildly, and made many heads turn – _or rise_ , as fitting the situation.

He was Agent 73 of the Al'Tair Squadron, currently codenamed: Mr. Whiskers.

She was Agent 14 of the Aphrodite Squadron, currently codenamed: Brandy.

And together, Brandy and Mr. Whiskers were assigned an important job in this little nightclub. Their eyes only ever made contact once, the silent communication needed for them to begin their mission.

Mr. Whiskers targeted those whose inhibitions were lower, those whose eyes had caught on to Brandy, and he saw one, a young man, shyly, with glasses, staring lustfully and enviously into the crowd. He marked his target, and, like a bloodhound trained for the hunt, an ambush predator honed for the attack, he moved.

"Psst – hey buddy – you want to tap that ass don't you?"

The mark looked startled, rapidly changing the direction of his gaze. "W-what? I don't – who the fuck are you?"

"Relax, relax man – I'm your friend here. See… I happen to know that sexy little thing… and I know a rather nasty secret she's got." Mr. Whiskers said. "But – if you're not interested –"

Mr. Whiskers turned around, and he barely had to wait before his mark moved.

"Wait! Wait! I never said I wasn't interested!" he called him back, his eyes once more eyeing Brandy. Any fool with a pair of eye-sockets could clearly see the desire lidden in the mark's eyes. "What… what secret?"

Mr. Whiskers 'smiled.'

"She used to be a complete washout. Boring as cardboard – couldn't have fun to save her life. Now – she's living it large all cause of a little friend."

"F-friend?"

Mr. Whiskers brought out a small pill. "This little baby. We call it – _NZT_."

Brandy, of course, was not merely bait. No – she was far more, a far more dangerous, deadly, sort of predator. Her eyes latched onto a new target, awkwardly standing to the side, a reluctant, seeming third wheel in a group. She sauntered over, grinning, flirtatiously, pushing herself unto the target, taking in his momentarily confused look and eyes, before moving in, and breathing, deeply, huskily, into his ear.

"Hey handsome."

His cheeks flushed. His pupils dilated. His breathing was short and erratic. It was easy, too easy, like molding clay within her grasp fingers. Her hand roamed down, resting on his crotch. She turned to him, smiling innocently, a glimmer in her eyes.

" _Would you like to dance?_ "

Humans, primarily the males, were a sorely amusing sort. All she required, was a little bit of contact, a little bit of attention, letting them touch her, pet her, trying to 'subtly' grope and feel at her skin. She needed to merely probe them on subtly, speaking in a husky, slow voice. Smiling at their touches. Lightly grinding her behind on them. It was an effortless art – one that would only fail upon those with the strongest of wills and the greatest of convictions.

Luckily, there were no such men to be found partying inanely in a nightclub.

On and on the night went, men who were married, men who were not, boys who knew little of the opposite sex, those who were confident in their machismo and saw her as a new conquest –

She took them all, to a silent, secluded corner, the protrusion in their pants all but painfully obvious, and then, she told them, one by one, the requirements of having her –

"S-so I just take this pill – and – and then –"

She smiled. Amused with his flustering, her latest prey. The poor fool – all it would take was once. Taking the pill once, snorting the powder once, using the intravenous injection, _once_ – and he would be hooked to it. For life. _Forever_. And here he was, so eager, so willing, to do that, merely for the momentary satisfaction of having his manhood squeezed by her tightness.

Laughable.

"M-m-my – this… _what is this drug?_ I – I – It's like everything is –"

"Shhh…." She whispered. "Don't think about it… just think… about… _me_."

She engulfed him, and his thoughts, his inhibitions, what little of them – vanished, with the wind.

But, she knew he would be back. They would _all_ be back. If not for the pill, then for her, for the nameless seductress – the one that granted them –

 _A taste of heaven_.

The man finished, a lost, far-away look on his face. His mind, overloaded with pleasure. His dopamine receptors, super-charged and stimulated, flooding his brain with far more ecstasy than a human mind was meant to handle.

She tapped the side of his cheek, satisfied with her work. With _their_ work. She was merely one of the few hundreds dispatched to the City, to spread their master's creation far and wide. Soon, it would merely be a manner of seconds before everyone in the city was hooked.

She activated her telepathic communication. "This is Brandy reporting. I have suitably completed my mission. What is the status report Mr. Whiskers?"

Nothing.

Had she been human, she would have frowned or scrunched up her nose. Instead, her face remained perfectly passive. "Come in, Mr. Whiskers. What is your status? I repeat – what is your status?"

Still nothing.

"Mr –"

"Ah! You must be the other one!"

Brandy's hair stood on edge, she turned around from her position, finding a blonde woman standing in front of her.

"Your partner was _sooooo_ mean! He actually _stabbed_ me with a needle full of some stuff that felt _great!_ But – I didn't ask, and I really want to know what's inside! My pudding would probably just _love_ it!"

Brandy did not speak.

" _Alpha Division Command Center – this is Agent 14 of the Aphrodite Squadron reporting. Have sighted priority target – Harleen Quinzel. Requesting permission to engage."_

" _Agent 14, permission gran –_ "

 _RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!_

Brandy stared, looking down at the numerous bullet holes, and then up, to the smoking barrels of two machineguns held in the woman's hands. She blew the smoke from the top of both of them, before hugging them to her chest.

"I just _love_ my babies!"

The insane woman smiled, turning back to Brandy.

"Don't you?"

And the rain of gunfire continued.

 **XXXX**

 **Xx ¬ DC – Remastered Edition ¬ xX**

XXXX

 **Gotham City**

 **Deep Underground**

 **Zack's Fortress**

"The latest batch are now available for deployment, Master Zack."

I nodded, staring out over the coliseum and examining the gathered people. Their numbers were far larger than the previous set, and it was immediately sizing up to be a formidable force.

 **Congratulations!**

 **You have attained (5000) new Homunculi Soldiers!**

 **Your total number of soldiers is now: [5500]!**

 **You may now create new Squadrons!**

 **You may now increase the number of troops in each Squadron!**

The only item left in my Quest Progression required me to become the Mayor of Gotham. Whilst I was already guaranteed that I would succeed, the elections were still in _March_. There were five months from now till then, a large amount of time in which any chaotic unforeseen outcome could possibly attempt to blindside me. For now, I was focusing on increasing the amount of troops in my army, and ensuring that NZT fully hit the streets and dominated all of Gotham.

Several Platoons and Sections had been assigned the task of ensuring the full spread of the drug to the local populace, and I estimated a few manner of weeks before the drug was in every single household shelf in the entire city.

"Sigh… if only I could apply the time-dilation effect in the real world, and make these five months fly by in a single second."

While I could do something similar to the fort, it would mean, to the outside world, that I would have been missing for five months. It would be unwise to leave for such large stretch of time.

I rubbed at my chin slowly, feeling the slight development of a small stubble, which truly reminded me of the vast amount of time I spent working with Poison Ivy in order to create the perfect drug. A little over six months… my birthday had actually passed – which meant I was biologically seventeen years old now. Odd, when I thought about it. I wondered how I would be able to explain the sudden aging to Naomi and her family, or if I would have to resort to using my **Alteration** skill to change my appearance.

 _Ping!_

 **Family [Side] Quest Alert!**

 **History and Other Miscellaneous Facts**

 **As per your agreement with Evelyn Brooks, you will receive bi-weekly updates on her work and studies, in exchange for solving her monetary problems.**

 **Objective:**

 **Meet Evelyn and find out what she has for you**

 **Bonus Objectives:**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Rewards:**

 **Information on World's History**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Failure:**

 **Massively Decreased Reputation with Evelyn Brooks**

 **No information on World's History**

 **?**

 **Accept?**

 **Yes**

 **No**

It clicked the minute I saw the alert. I'd actually forgotten. _I'd forgotten_. It had been six months, give or take a few days – well, from my perspective it had been six months. For them, for everyone on the outside, barely a day or two had passed. That was the power and danger with hyperbolic time chambers, the way it managed to mess with perspectives –

I hit the accept button, before frowning as an odd thought came to my mind.

 _Messing with time._

In this world, there were people who did that on a daily basis. Speedsters for one, and then there were the "Legends of Tomorrow" and the entire organization of time masters. Time travel was not in the realm of fantasy. I could, technically already control time to a small extent, although, most of this was due to my magical spells and enchantments, rather than direct control over the forces of time and space.

 _Do I want to mess with time?_

"Is… is something the matter, Master Zack?"

I turned to Nezumi, who had finished barking the initiation commands to the new soldiers. "Nothing. Just a stray thought." I shook my head. "I'll be heading back to the City for now. Be sure to contact me if anything comes up."

Nezumi bowed formally. "As you command Master Zack."

I opened a portal through the **ID** and found myself emerging from a discarded street in one of Gotham's back alleyways. A cat meowed loudly, hissing at my sudden appearance before scampering away, and I couldn't shake off my thoughts, the potential power of messing with time. The power to render causality completely irrelevant.

I took in a breath of the stale-but-familiar Gotham air, placed my hands into my pockets, and then narrowed my eyes as I let my body move on auto-pilot, focusing on the mini-map to Evelyn's location. I emerged from the alley, moving into the streets, with the thought still on my mind.

Time was relative. The specific physics and calculations which could prove the sheer relavity of time aside, what was important was that time was relative, even _here_ , in this universe. One of the most obvious example of the relativity of time would be the issue of Superman and Supergirl. Superman was sent from Krypton mere _moments_ before Supergirl, and she was sent immediately after him in order to protect the young baby Kal-El.

The problem was, of course, by the time Supergirl had landed on Earth, Kal-El was anything but a baby, whilst Supergirl had not aged a day. How was this possible?

I crossed a road, moving at a steady gait, my eyes noticing, and appreciating the fact that there were far fewer cars on the roads, and hence, a complete absence of traffic. It was proof of my work, clearing out most of the criminals in the city had long-reaching circumstances that even I was not fully aware of. Regardless, that was not what my mind had chosen to focus on. No – I was still focused on the issue of _time_.

Superman aged on Earth, because he was bound by earth's, and, if I'm correct, the Solar System's gravity. _Time_ on earth was effectively the measurement of a period in which the earth rotated on its axis, and eventually rotated around its star – The Sun. If you were not in this solar system, you would not be bound by its measurement of time, as it would be far different on alien planets. So, Supergirl, coming from her home-planet via wormhole technology, had arrived into this world. Of course, Superman had been here long enough for the planet to have rotated around the sun at least thirty or so times… so he had aged.

I paused in front of an abandoned shop, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I had a small stubble, and there was far less baby-fat on my face than before. My hair was also significantly longer, and a bit more untamed. I… had aged, visibly.

The difference of time – being in a dimension separate from earth and therefore not bound to its own time… it was sparking a lot of ideas in my head. More so, it was sparking numerous questions, particularly in response to the beings in this world capable of moving faster than the speed of light.

The closer you move to the speed of light, the more time slows down, and at the speed of light, time stops. So, theoretically, beyond the speed of light, time should move _backwards_.

I continued onwards, checking my watch, whilst my mind was still thinking. Stars in the night sky were all dead. Every single one. The light from their explosions and death, however, took several years to reach earth. So when one looked into the starry night sky, they were seeing the _past_. They were seeing remnants of the death of a star several years past.

 _Shouldn't the same be in reverse?_

…

Fucking special relativity. I wasn't about to crack my brain trying to figure it out when I could get scientists to do it for me.

I came to a stop in front of my destination, raising my eyebrow at the realization that it was the same Starbucks knock-off shop I'd been earlier. I entered, drawing the customary glances and looks from patrons and customers when someone new entered a building, before they all returned to their business and eating. It didn't take me long to find Evelyn, sitting in the corner of the shop, her nose seemingly buried in a small pile of books.

Again, I ordered two small coffees, before moving over to her.

"Hard at work I see."

She shot her head up at the voice. "Of course I am – I mean I –" she stopped abruptly, staring at me as I took a seat and handed her a coffee. I smiled at her gaze.

"You're not going to keep being awestruck every time you see me, are you? The charm will wear off a bit too fast."

"Zack…? Is that you?" Evelyn asked, her eyes scrutinizing me.

"Who else would be this handsome?"

She rolled her eyes. "And vain. Yes – it's definitely you. What happened to you? You look… _different_."

I pointed at my chin. "It's the stubble. Beards and a haircut are the make-up for men. Growing one can make you look like you've aged years."

"…No kidding. You _do_ look like you've aged a bit… and… are you… taller?"

"You sure you're not the one growing _shorter_?"

A foot lightly kicked my leg under the table. It was so light, it didn't even register as an attack, whereas, Evelyn's face immediately scrunched up in pain.

"OW! What the hell? Why does your leg feel like solid concrete?!"

I smiled easily. "Trust me, that's not the _only_ thing I have that's hard like solid concrete."

She spluttered in indignation. "You –"

"I was of course, talking about my _abs_." I said with a knowing look. "What were you thinking of?"

She spluttered again, and a part of me found it amusing how easy it was to deflect or evade most of her questions and enquiries with light deflections and subtle teasing. Over time, she would probably figure it out, because she was smarter than I gave her credit for – but – she was also smart enough not to ask _too_ many questions.

I blinked when I noticed a blue moving icon appear on my minimap, before I immediately turned my attention back to Evelyn.

"Did you tell anyone you were meeting me here?"

She frowned. "What? No – we had an agreement remember –"

"Okay…" I responded, before shooting my thumb to the door. "So why is your brother here?"

Her eyes widened, travelling to the front of the café, where very visible, Lucian walked in, not even attempting to be subtle in the fact that he was looking for something or _someone_. Then, all at once, he caught sight of her, and yelled.

"Aha! I knew you secretly had a boyfriend!"

… I slowly contemplated the different numerous ways to kill him as several pairs of eyes turned in our direction. Most notably, and obviously, were the eyebrows that rose as people noted the age difference.

" _Idiot!"_ she hissed.

I supposed it was up to me to run damage control. Amusement pulled at my lips as I stood and turned to Lucian.

"So what if I do?"

Numerous pairs of eyes widened. None more so than Lucian and Evelyn who were both staring at me like I'd grown a second head.

"Is this what the 21st century has become? One cannot even keep their gay boyfriend a secret?" I sighed audibly. "Shame. Shame on you."

Lucian looked torn between spluttering, turning inside out, or fleeing as the patronage of eyes whipped in his direction. Humans did love a scandal, and more than that, they loved a scapegoat.

"I – er – you – this – I mean –"

I could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. The mortification on his face was immensely amusing, especially as people began to whisper rumors about certain homophobic sentiments. Without waiting for any more clarification, he bolted out of the room in a mad dash. The little shop remained silent for several more minutes, before I made an exaggerated sigh, and uttered out a "Good grief."

Slowly, the patrons in the shop began clapping. It was one person at first, then two, then three, and within seconds, I'd received a standing ovation, and a bit of whistles and approving cheers. I smiled at all of them, before returning to my seat.

Evelyn stare grew to insane amounts.

"You… you're impossible."

"No my dear, I specialize in _actualizing_ the impossible." I responded cheekily. "There's a difference."

Two waitresses came by, and of course, dropped some free refills, and I saw Evelyn's nose scrunch up in disbelief at the number of 'receipts' under the coffee.

"Why are there even _more_ phone numbers than before?!" she groused. "They think you're gay! So why –" she shook her head. "You know what? I'm just going to have to get used to this type of stuff happening around you."

I grabbed the coffee cup, taking a long sip. "Smart decision."

"Also, Lucian is going to be pretty upset when he realizes you pranked him."

"I'll probably make it up to him later. Get him a present. What does your brother like?"

Evelyn narrowed her eyes at me.

"What?"

"Don't _what_ me. Sure my brother might be an idiot sometimes, but he's still my brother. He really looks up to you – and you're just going to _bribe_ him."

I paused for a second, the amusement vanishing from my lips. "He looks up to me?"

"Zack this, Zack that, Zack is so cool, Zack probably has dozens of girlfriends, I wish I could be like Zack when I grow up –" she said in a snooty sounding voice. "Ever since we met you, you're the only thing he talks about. He just can't shut up about you."

Strange. Had I left that much of an impression on him? Me? Being someone's role model? _Without_ **Soul Conditioning?**

"Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?" I responded cheekily.

"You wish."

"Of course I do, that's why I asked."

Evelyn shook her head. "There is seriously something wrong with you Zack."

I smiled. "Oh you have _no_ idea."

"Let's just… go over my findings before I have to sit here and listen to a sad sixteen year old try and pick up a girl three years his junior."

I winced. " _Oof!_ " I said, before smiling. "That smarts. It would have stung more if you were right and I was actually _trying_ , chibi."

She rose an eyebrow. "Chibi?"

"It's Japanese. Look it up." I said dryly. "Also, most certainly do _not_ look up the word netorare. Ever. Trust me, you'll thank me for it later."

Evelyn furrowed her brows. "I didn't know you spoke Japanese."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

"Then who does?"

The question caught me off guard for a second. "What?"

"Who does, know stuff about you, I mean." She clarified. "Who is the one person in the world who knows more about you than anyone else?"

I opened my mouth to answer – only to find myself slowly closing it.

 _Who is the one person in the world who knows more about you than anyone else?_

I spent several seconds attempting to answer that question, until the realization that the question had no answer came back to strike me. _Not even Nezumi knows everything about me_.

My silence was more than enough of an answer for Evelyn.

"…So you're that kind of person."

"And what kind of person is that?"

"The lonely hardass." She said, "The type of person who doesn't have any friends because he thinks they'll hold him back. Or because he's afraid of losing them. Or because he thinks they'll betray him – or one other stupid reason."

My smile became very, _very_ strained. "You don't know me."

"No. But I know that you're not dirt poor. You're handsome and attractive. You're funny. Marketable. Skilled. Smart. Confident. If you were in my school you'd probably be elected as Student Council President or Star Quarterback or something. Guys would fistbump you everywhere you went and girls would keep asking you out and giggling as you passed by. The only reason why a person like you wouldn't have any friends is if he _chose_ not to." Evelyn said, staring straight at me.

"The real question here is, why would you chose not to?"

A terse silence followed in the wake, and I allowed a natural smile to come to my face.

"Unfortunately, the world isn't quite as rosy-tinted as your perception of it. Technically speaking, you should be right. Such traits would be ideal for gaining friends and alliances. However, that is only up to a certain point. That point is called the point of diminishing return." I spoke easily. "When you are _too smart_ , you make others envious and feel stupid in comparison. When you are _too_ good-looking, you make others around you seem plain in comparison. Too charismatic? Others around you are dull and lifeless by default. Too athletic? Others no longer seem to stack up. When you outshine everything and everyone around you like a burning supernova in the wake of a candle flame – 'friendship' or any illusion of it is pointless. To stand at the top is to stand alone. Below you and behind you are rivals and competitors forever cast in the shadow left by your light."

I shook my head. "They are not your friends. They are the people seeking your moment of downfall, so as to stand as your equals."

Evelyn seemed unable to say anything for a brief second, and inwardly, I found myself feeling irritated at the fact that her words had spurned me on to say that.

"Are you… speaking from experience?"

"Does it matter?"

"I think… that was the first time I heard you say something that you… actually believed." Evelyn said, "I think, for the first time… you spoke from your heart. You showed you – the _real_ you."

I blinked. _Shit._ The real me was not a person that should be near children. I was cynical. Mean-spirited. Pessimistic. I had a love for Machiavellianism and a penchant for cosmic nihilism.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I diverted easily. "Besides, didn't we come here to discuss your schoolwork? As _awesome_ as I am – I think it'll feed my narcissism a bit too much if we keep talking about me."

Evelyn pursed her lips, leaning back into her chair, before bringing out her notes. I leaned back into mine comfortably, before a realization hit me.

"Now that I think about it, I don't really know much about you, personally."

She snorted. "What's there to know?"

"What drives you, for starters?"

"The desire to not be poor." She said dryly.

I grinned. "Simple, but a worthy goal. So, how'd you plan on achieving this desire? What do you want to be when you grow older?"

"Neurosurgeon." She said without missing a beat.

"Neurosurgeon?" I repeated.

"Neurosurgeon." She confirmed. "Failing that, I'd prefer to become a Top Leading Astrophysicist at either Star Labs or Palmer Tech. If my foray into sciences doesn't pan out, my back up plan is to become a Prosecutor at a Top Law Firm – or failing that, an international fashion designer – or, my least likely goal as a politician –"

"Whoa whoa whoa," I gestured my hand out, "Someone's certainly not lacking any ambition." I said jokingly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said stuffily.

I laughed. "Not bad. Not bad at all. It's great to have big goals and dreams. It makes living so much more worth it."

Evelyn nodded slowly, analyzing me. "And you? What's your dream?"

I smiled at her.

"To become God."

Her nose scrunched up. "You're joking."

"I'm not."

She stared at me for a second.

"Okay, so you're _definitely_ insane. That's nice to know."

"Aww, what's this, little-Eevee doesn't think I can do it?"

"One, I'm not a Pokémon. Two, _obviously_ I don't think you can do it –"

Hold up –

"Wait, you know _Pokémon?!_ "

"… Uh, yeah? Pokémon Go was like a major hit two years back –"

I sharpened my gaze at her.

"Have you heard of Dragonball? Naruto? One Piece?"

She shook her head. "You'd have to ask Lucian – he's the geek in the family."

… Amazing. Often times I forgot the possibility of other fictional worlds existing inside the fictional world that I currently was in. I'd gotten so used to people not having a damned clue as to where my references came from –

Yeah, I'd definitely need to look into this.

"Wait… could it be that you don't have any knowledge of _pop culture_ either?"

I blinked at the question. "Er… you could say that."

Evelyn stared. "So you've never watched Terminator? Or Star Wars? Or Harry Potter? Or Lord of the Rings? Or even Back to the Future? Or –" she paused "Zack… why are you staring at me like that?"

"You… you know Lord of the Rings… You know Star Wars…"

"Of course I do! Why wouldn't – er - Zack – earth to Zack – you're kind of entering my personal spac – Zack – wait –gah! Why are you hugging me! Let go! This isn't funny Zack! Your face is too close! ZAAACK!"

* * *

 **XXXXXX**

* * *

 **Brooks Household**

 **Later That Evening**

 **7:23 PM**

Naomi Brooks felt it was certainly strange to watch the normally capable, normally upright, unflappable and confident teen named Zack Cabrera, have a large, impossible smile on his face. It wasn't to say that she never expected the boy to smile, it was just that she never expected him to smile so _earnestly_. It often felt like there was a wall between Zack and people, and although he tried to get close, there was _something_ stopping him from doing so.

Except, today, she watched him, with an unbelievably large, _genuine_ smile on his face, sit down in front of their TV, bring out their DVD player, and immediately insert a disc inside, giddily grinning and laughing as it came up.

The famous _Disney_ song and logo came up, and Zack all but cackled with glee, making Naomi turn her attention to her daughter that stood beside her, a questioning look on her face.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone get so excited to watch _The_ _Jungle Book_ before. What did you do to him?"

"Nothing!" Evelyn responded scandalously "Nothing! I mean – I told him that I'd watched _Aladdin_ , and a bunch of other movies and he immediately went like this! I –" her voice became quiet, low, "I don't think he's ever watched them before. Any of them. He's heard of them… but…"

Pain and unease struck at Naomi's heart as she saw the sheer earnestness with which Zack gazed at the screen. It hit her, the realization of what she took for granted. As an orphan, and as one who practically raised himself, Zack had probably never watched any movies or TV shows – or even had time to as much as enjoy his childhood.

She listened to him sing _The bare necessities of life_ and couldn't help the choked feeling in her throat at hearing the sheer _happiness_ that filled him from watching a children's cartoon. His eyes and his posture, it looked as though the boy had found something he had been missing for years upon years, something that the thought he would never see again –

He was… _happy_.

There was a significant difference between this happiness he had and the 'happiness' he usually wore.

" _I mean the – bare necessities – the simple bare necessities –"_

"I… didn't think he'd be this…" Evelyn wanted to say something, but somehow failed. It was as though she could not properly articulate the words, or the meanings, or even knew what she would say and where she would begin to say it.

Her daughter wasn't stupid of course. She was smart. She was smart enough to know that someone as 'hardened' and serious as Zack becoming this cheery over an animation was not something you saw everyday. It was something endearing, until the reasons for why it happened reached into your throat and landed on your tongue like a bitter pill.

"Come on – let's… let him have his moment."

" _Forget about your worries, and your strife!"_

* * *

XXXXX

* * *

 **Gotham**

 **Brooks Residence**

 **2:12 AM**

I wasn't going to get any sleep that night.

 _Ping!_

 **Family [Side] Quest Complete!**

 **History and Other Miscellaneous Facts**

 **As per your agreement with Evelyn Brooks, you will receive bi-weekly updates on her work and studies, in exchange for solving her monetary problems.**

 **Objective:**

 **Meet Evelyn and find out what she has for you [Completed]**

 **Bonus Objectives:**

 **Chat With Evelyn [Complete]**

 **Rediscover the Classics [Complete]**

 **Divert Lucian Away [Complete]**

 **Rewards:**

 **Information on World's History Gained!**

 **Classic Movies Gained!**

 **Massively Increased Reputation with the Brooks Family!**

Within the euphoria of back-to-back Disney movies and plain ol' classics, I'd somehow found myself sleeping over at the Brooks place once more. Surprisingly enough, I completed the quest, So far, my favorite movie to rediscover, which I was watching, _again and again and again_ , was the Lion King. Particularly, the opening sequence.

"AHHHH TCHUMBA BABATITIBABA!"

"No, no, it's NANTS INGONYAMA BAGITHI BABA!"

"What? No way – it's totally RAAAWRR INTANA BOOBY TITTY BABYA!"

A pillow crashed into my head and I grinned at Evelyn, sitting on the couch in her pajamas, and rolling her eyes.

"Gods you're such a pervert."

Lucian was the first to rise to my defense. "Well of course he is! He's a guy! The coolest – manliest –"

"Ugh – really Lucian – if I didn't know any better – I'd say you _really_ wanted to suck Zack's –"

"Language."

Lucian frowned. "What the fuck –"

"Language." I called out again, amused.

"Sorry," Lucian said, " _Why_ the fuck –"

"No!"

I laughed, shaking my head at the twins. They were always at odds ends – until something came up in which they'd be the first ones to join forces.

"Well –" Evelyn rose from the couch, stretching and yawning. "I'm off to bed."

"What, is it 'past your bedtime' already?" Lucian asked in a babyish voice.

"I'll be the one laughing when you get detention for falling asleep in History class." Evelyn retorted.

"Whatever! Rules were meant to be broken! Live a little!"

"You're the one telling me to live a little? Last I checked, who still hasn't asked Anabelle out on a date?"

Lucian's face lit up. "S-s-shut up! You – you – graaah!"

"If grunting in anger is the best comeback you have, then you're a really sorry sight brother."

She laughed, her footsteps echoing softly on the staircase as Lucian sat, his face a red storm, as indiscriminate swear words spewed from his mouth in a stream. He turned his attention to me, before groaning.

"Graahh! It's – it's not what it sound like okay?"

"I have no idea what it's supposed to sound like."

"Well…" he started "There's this girl I like. She's really – really cool and pretty – she's a cheerleader. But she isn't like those other cheerleaders y'know? She's smart, and cute, and – and –

My lip twitched. "And?"

"And I like her okay?" He said with his cheeks flushed.

"Okay?" I said, my lip still twitching.

"It's not funny!"

"It's okay. So… you have a crush." I said, "Have you tried talking to her?"

"What? No way!" he said immediately.

"And… why?"

"Dude… she's like… totally out of my league. How would I even walk up to her? What would I even say?"

I rubbed my nose slowly as I stared at the confused bundle of hormones that was the thirteen-year-old boy in front of me.

"But I like her man! I really do! I want her to like me to – I want to be with her… I just don't know how I'm going to do it."

"Fascinating as this is," I said "Why are you telling me this?"

"Well…" he gave me a strange look, "You… look like you'd know a lot about this kind of stuff."

"I'm sorry?"

"Dude – don't make me say it." He groaned, "You – you look like a bloody chick magnet dude. You're hot – no homo – you can outcook my mom, and you've got this weird charisma about you. There's no way someone like you hasn't hooked up with a bunch of girls. Unless you're gay – but I don't think you are…" He paused, "Unless you weren't pranking me this afternoon."

"No, I'm not gay." I said, amusement on my lips. "You're right though. I've had my fair share of college girls and women before."

He turned to stare at me as though I was some sort of god-amongst-men. "College girls? No fricking way! But you're… you're…"

I shrugged a bit. "I like my women a little bit older. I've never actually tried girls my own age, though I'll probably give it a shot sooner or later. I doubt I'll like it though – teenage girls are annoying."

The stare grew, and it was slightly disconcerting.

"Teach me." He whispered.

I chuckled. "Alright padawan, let's get something straight first –"

"You finally watched Star Wars?!" he blurted out immediately, and I blinked as I turned back to him.

"Yes, I watched it today. Now, as I was saying," I shot him a mild look and he appeared sheepish, "Let's get something straight first. This girl you have a crush on, are you looking for a relationship, or do you just want to fuck her?"

He immediately spluttered, his face going red.

"Yeah – we're going to have to do something about that. Blushing and spluttering when talking about sex is a big 'no-no.'"

"I can't help it! I'm just thirteen and I've never even –" he stopped.

"You've never even… what?"

"Nothing!"

"…You've never had a girlfriend before, that much is obvious. And I'm guessing you've never seen or touched real breasts before. If that follows, I'm guessing it means you've never even been kissed before."

His face went red.

"At least tell me you can hug girls?"

He turned his gaze to the side.

"You've held a girl's hand before… right?"

His gaze turned further away, and I could do nothing but stare.

"At least you can _talk_ to girls… right? _Right?_ "

"I… talk to my sister? Does that count?"

"Do you plan on fucking your sister in the future?"

"Ew – gross – no!"

"Then it doesn't bloody count!" I stopped myself from getting any more irritated, and blatantly annoyed with the concept. Jesus – was I ever like this when I was thirteen in my past life? I couldn't remember. I certainly hope not. When I was thirteen in this world, I was setting down the foundations for my billion dollar company, and training my magical power to make people do my bidding.

It was strange, to listen to this – this travesty. Was this what it was like for a real thirteen year old? To be a nervous bundle of emotions who couldn't even talk to someone because they were a different gender?

"What about your friends? Don't tell me everyone in your little group is filled with people who can't talk to girls?"

He let out a soft mumbling grumble. "…anyfriends."

"What was that?"

"I said I don't have any friends! Okay?" he yelled "You gonna laugh and get angry at me for that too?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but then closed it immediately. I wanted to ask him how it was possible for someone to have no friends, when the overwhelming irony hit me.

This was the second time in a short while that my lack of friends and acquaintances was brought up.

Nezumi, the closest thing I had to a companion was still more or less my minion and butler than he was my friend. I'd once spent entire years in isolation from any sort of interaction with anyone, and even afterwards, I did not speak to anyone. I did not even have any _allies_ to speak of, yet alone _acquaintances_.

Had I really been alone for seventeen straight years?

Did I truly, absolutely, have not a single person, on this planet of seven billion, in this universe of quadrillions, who I could have talked to, spoken with, invited out for a drink, or cracked a joke with?

It left a somewhat bitter taste in my mouth. Even if the world was fake – even if every outcome was predetermined and destiny was a lie –

 _Did I really have not one soul?_

Hmmm… I'd have to look into befriending some of the villains sometime. At the very least, the Yellow Lantern Corps guys would make some good drinking buddies. Or maybe I could organize a party with Lex Luthor?

"I wasn't going to laugh." I answered, unsure of what I would say next. "I understand. I understand what it's like."

"You… do?"

"What's with that skepticism?" I asked dryly, "In case you've forgotten, I have no parents, I lived on the streets, and I've been taking care of myself since I was half your age. You think someone like me would have time to sit down, have some drinks and chat about how swell life was?"

"Oh."

"In any case, we're going to fix that little problem of yours."

"Fix?" he asked, "How?"

I grinned.

"I may have a few ideas."

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Iceberg Lounge**

 **Strip Club**

 **3:41 AM**

"Remember, don't do anything to draw attention to yourself. Don't say anything a kid would say. Don't say anything a kid _wouldn't_ say. Be cool, smooth – and you may just end up having a good time."

It was an issue of pride, and a bit of stubborn sentimental bitterness that kept me from owning a nightclub or a bar or brothel of my own. It reminded me too much of my mother, and it reminded me of a past I wanted to forget. So, I never bought one, Legend Industries never purchased one, and not even Zeddicus Zul Zorander/The Consultant owned one. Hence, if I wanted to go to a lounge to 'relax' in Gotham City of all places, I ended up having to go to the ones that were already 'owned' by several people.

Case in point, this one, as I, Zack Cabrera, entered the infamous den of The Penguin, the Iceberg Lounge. The thing was, however, as I stood at the gate and stared at the burly bouncer, my young protégé behind me in a masterful illusionary disguise that even he himself was not aware of, I smiled at the bouncer, and he nodded at me.

"A pleasure, Overlord Master."

I tilted my head, and dragged the stary-eyed, nervous-as-hell thirteen year old in behind me.

 _My agents had infiltrated the Penguin's base_. Actually, more accurately, my agents had infiltrated _everywhere in Gotham_. There was no place, no store, no market, no shop, no salon, no business center, no swimming pool, hotel, brothel, school, hospital, or _anywhere_ , that did not have my homunculi. They replaced people, loved ones, or merely inserted themselves as 'newcomers' to the city.

Right now, a husband or wife was kissing their significant other, having no idea that the person with them was merely an identical clone of their loved one, down to every subconscious attitude, behavior and tick.

Ah, an interesting horror story it was, but, I came here to man-up Lucian, not to bask in the glory of my conquest.

"I – I can't believe it! He let me enter! He let _you_ enter! Why did he –"

"Let's just say, I pulled a special favor." I said to Lucian, before dragging him forward a bit. "Now, tonight, we're going to let you have something that most boys your age can only dream about."

He turned to me, eyes wide. "Really? What?"

I pointed straight ahead.

"That."

It was strange, how seeing strippers dance on a pole brought me a weird sense of discomfort. There was no arousal, no fascination, just a plain, mechanical sense of observation. Their bodies, gyrating, their hips and breasts, swaying, even as they gestured eyes to their sacred parts that was covered with enough fabric to obscure their hidden contents, but little enough to leave so much to the imagination.

"Ah – ah – my – wow – that's –"

A small part of me questioned the ethics of bringing a kid to a strip club. At least, until I caught Lucian's starry-eyed gaze and then shook my head. If only he knew what his mother was like back in the day –

"Um… I – er – Zack – I think –"

"You have a boner."

His face went red. "Don't just say it like that! It's – I mean – is this awkward? What if they see – what if –"

"Lucian. _Relax._ " I said, tapping the boy gently on his shoulder. "At a strip club, no one cares if you have a boner. Just don't wave it around, don't make it obvious, don't stare at other people's boners – and don't walk funny. Play it off. Calm. Collected."

He took in a deep breath.

"Calm. Right. Calm – Calm. Calm. Ca – aahhh, there's a girl – she's walking towards me –"

Right on cue, a young woman, with thick raven locks, sparkling blue eyes, a wide smile, full hips and breasts approached us, a smile on her face.

"Hey handsome! You want a _private_ dance?"

I smirked a bit, before turning to Lucian.

"Actually, my friend here would love one. Wouldn't you?"

"Ah? Me? I – ah –"

The woman giggled. "Aw, he's just the cutest thing." She winked at him. "Don't worry, I'll take _good_ care of you."

She grabbed Lucian's arm, pulling him towards her, while the boy in question looked more confused and awkward than ever.

"Zack," he mouthed "Help me!"

"Have fun!" I mouthed back.

The woman, turned to me, a sharp expression on her face, as she sent a mental note.

 _Aphrodite Division Agent 86. I will ensure no harm comes to your ward, Overlord Master._

I nodded. _See to it that you teach him well._

Like I was going to leave a _thirteen year old kid_ out on his own in a place like this. The strippers would eat him up and attempt to gobble him for every penny he had. Better to let one of my Agents 'show him the ropes' so to speak. Better yet still, she'd provide him with the necessary tools needed in seduction and pleasuring a woman. I highly doubted a night's session would be enough to turn the thirteen year old into Johnny-fucking-Bravo, but it should be enough to eliminate his initial awkwardness, fear, and shyness of the opposite sex. Exposure therapy, as I would like to call it.

There was no way you would be shy to talk to a possibly flat-chested, developing thirteen-year-old girl if you'd just spent the previous night having sex with a well-endowed, beautiful woman out of your league.

Or at least, that was the general idea.

Although… having his first time with a female homunculus would probably ruin all other sexual experiences in the future with regular women… considering the whole 'shape-shifting' part of their ability and the fact that they could 'change' down there to be whatever was most pleasurable…

Meh. It'd all work out in the end.

Eventually.

I focused my attention back on my immediate surroundings. Other than making Lucian a man – there wasn't really much left for me to do here. Unless, of course, picking up some interesting new game to spend the night with –

But at the same time, I needed to make sure that I got Lucian back home before either Naomi or Evelyn discovered we were missing. I highly doubted they'd approve…

If the two major females in his life would not approve of this activity, did that mean that it was wrong?

I pursed my lips.

Was what I was doing good or bad?

He'd be the envy of guys his age and be considered a lucky bastard blessed by gods above if people found out how he lost his virginity – but at the same time, if I flipped the gender a bit, it became a bit more worrying…

Where was the quest window when you needed it to answer a moral dilemma for you?

 _Ping!_

That was eerily convenient.

 **New Main Quest!**

… That was also not what I was expecting.

 **Justice and Vengeance**

 **In a Just World, all evil is punished, and all good deeds are rewarded. The world may be anything but Just, but, there are those who attempt their best to make it so. Some of them happen to be rather powerful, and, as of this moment, are homing in your location to deliver what they believe to be Justice… or Vengeance.**

 **Main Objective**

 **Survive**

 **Optional Objective**

 **Defeat or Evade your attackers**

 **Rewards:**

 **You Live To Fight Another Day**

 **Failure:**

 **Death. Incarceration. Insanity Beyond All Imaginable Limits.**

 **Eternal Life as A Cockroach. Randomized Infinite Suffering.**

 **It Varies on His Mood.**

… On his mood?

…What?

A sharp ringing immediately hit my ears and I winced at the force of the mental communication.

" _MASTER ZACK!_ " I heard Nezumi _roar_ "THERE IS A –"

The words cut off abruptly as everything stopped.

Everything.

The world seemed to have come to an absolute standstill.

The strippers were in gravity defying poses. The people and dancers around me were stuck in those moments. The very air became stale and motionless. There was no movement of anything or anyone.

The hairs on my body stood on edge. An uneasy cold filled the air. My every breath produced a haze of mist.

And then, a voice spoke.

" **Isaac** **Zachariah Cabrera.** "

I froze.

Appearing in front of me, hovering, with the familiar green cloak and imperceptible features, was one of the few individuals in this world I did not want to meet.

 **Name: The Spectre**

 **HP: Does Not Apply**

 **MP: Infinite**

 **Level: EX**

 **Age: Does Not Apply**

 **Race: Divinity**

 **Occupation: Vengeance of God**

 **Title: The Spirit of Vengeance**

 **Affiliations: The Innocent, Justice League, Justice Society of America, Heaven, The Presence**

 **Base of Operations: Unknown**

 **Alignment: Lawful**

 **ATTRIBUTES**

 **Strength: EX**

 **Vitality: EX**

 **Dexterity: EX**

 **Charisma: EX**

 **Intelligence: EX**

 **Wisdom: EX**

 **Luck: EX**

 **Bio**

 _ **Do you believe a worm such as yourself can view the history of the Vengeance of God?**_

…ha.

Hahaha.

Ha.

…The DC Universe was bullshit.


	17. Aequitas II

**So last chapter I said it'd be the last time I wrote long ass ANs and rants.**

 **I lied.**

 **I really, really want to write a long ass fucking rant right here to give a giant middle finger to the people telling me how to write my fucking story with shitty ideas that would clog the metaphorical toilet that all shitty ideas are flushed down. But... too lazy.**

 **Honestly was never sure if I'd come back to this story, but the numerous people sending messages on my other stories telling me to update this one was kind of getting annoying. I get it if you love the story, but Jesus-fucking-Christ it's a real motivation killer if you keep reviewing my other stories telling me just to update this one.**

 **Stop it. No, really. Stop.**

 **I'll update when I can update. Spamming walls of text telling me to update will only make me feel less willing to update out of spite. Somebody's prolly gonna read this and say: "Don't be an asshole, they're just fans who really like your work and want more of it!" and to that White-Knight, I kindly say:**

 **Fuck off.  
**

* * *

 _Recap aka Previously, on DC Remastered Edition:_

 _Zack gets some new lovely hommunculi. Harley Quinn gets hit with some NZT and fucks up Brandy and Mr. Whiskers. Zack gets to enjoy Disney movies again courtesy of his quest. Lucian admits to being a virgin who's too wimpy to hold a girl's hand, and Zack decides to remedy the issue by taking the kid to a strip club. And of course, strip clubs constantly suck for Zack when he meets someone he wasn't anticipating._

* * *

 **|||||| DC - Remastered Edition |||||**

* * *

"Zack."

My eyelids felt tired. Weighted down with god-forsaken anchors. The bed I was on felt soft though. _Familiar_. There was a particular scent –

"Come on, wakey wakey Zacky-boo. Momma's gotta get to work."

My entire body ran cold. There was no mistaking the voice. My eyes snapped open as I lunged out of the bed and locked my gaze straight on with a familiar blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman. My breath hitched, stuck deep within my throat as nothing I could say prepared me for a meeting with her.

She frowned uncertainly at me, tilting her head. "Is something wrong?"

My mouth opened, my throat felt parched. There were perhaps hundreds upon hundreds of words I wanted to say, none of which were ordered, none of which found themselves escaping my lips. I ended up choking on my own breath and saliva as I stared at her.

"M-m-mo –" I stopped myself by biting down on my lips.

 _No_. No. _No_.

She was dead. _Dead._ Gone. Killed. I had gotten my vengeance, however hollow it had been against Carmine Falcone. I – I started a war against the heroes and villains of Gotham, built an army, was planning to conquer the world, because – because –

"Zack? Are you alright? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

She came closer. I flinched backwards.

 _It was the same scent_.

It was _her_ scent. No matter how many years passed, no matter if I was in a different galaxy or trudging through the ghettos of hell, I could not forget this _scent_. The scent of cheap lavender perfume blended heavily with cigarettes, sex, and whiskey. Her eyes glanced into mine and I found myself scrambling backwards, failing as I hit my back against the wall.

"Zack!"

"You're dead!" I spat out the words before I could stop myself. "This isn't real – none of this is real – you're dead – dead –"

"Shhh! It's just a nightmare sweetie."

She reached out to touch me, and I crawled erratically away, _away away away_ –

I landed with a harsh bump on the floor, flinching as she shot me a worried look.

"Stop." I whispered. "Stop. Stop. Stop."

"Zack –"

I cradled my head in my hands as I took deep breaths. I needed to think. I _needed to think_. This – this was probably some sort of mental attack used against me by an enemy. Martian Manhunter? Miss Martian? Braniac? I couldn't remember.

I couldn't remember where I was or what I was doing before I got here. The details where fuzzy, I remembered something about a nightclub, something about a _quest_ –

A pair of hands wrapped around my form and I stiffened.

"It's okay Zacky. Momma's here. I'm right here."

The sensation of her skin. The feeling of her hand running softly through my hair. The scent of her cheap perfume and the sound of the soft thrumming beats of her heart. I could feel all of it. I _remembered_ all of it.

The familiar feeling of warmth. Of _her_.

I –

This –

 _This feeling –_

"Zacky… Zack? A-are you crying?"

It _burned_. It _burned_. My chest burned. My hands shook and I couldn't handle the choking sounds escaping from my own lips.

"Shhhh… it's okay! It's okay! You don't have to cry – it was all a bad dream. I'm here? See? I'm not dead! I'm alive! If STDs and alcohol poisoning couldn't take this girl down – then nothing will!"

I almost wanted to laugh. It sounded just like something she would say. It sounded like –

"But… why did you open the door Zack?"

A sensation of cold washed over me. My gaze went up. My mother's smiling, comforting face locked unto mine.

"W-what?" I whispered.

"Why did you open the door for the policeman?"

Her comforting smile never left her face.

"Why did you have to burn down that house?"

Her nails dug into my skin, as her smile continued to widen into horrific proportions.

"Why did you fail to save me?"

"I – I – I didn't –"

"With all your powers, you never bothered to break me out of prison."

Her smile continued to widen, her eyes growing larger, thick dark-red blood began pouring from every orifice in her face. The blood gushed further from her mouth, her nose, leaking outward with a legion of maggots and worms.

" _WHY DID YOU ABANDON ME ZACK?!"_

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Iceberg Lounge**

His name was Isaac Zachariah Cabrera. The infamous _Consultant_ – the boy who brought Gotham to its knees, crippled the Batman, ended thousands of lives and was a boogeyman-esque figure whose infamy rivaled and surpassed that of Gotham's own Clown Prince of Crime.

When she started off her quest for vengeance, she was ready for anything. Ready to take down the Consultant by any means necessary, ready to make him pay for the death of John Constantine, ready to kill him herself if need be and rid the world of what was probably an amateur magic-user who was only passably talented. Summoning the Spectre was a feat that she believed would aid her in rendering well-deserved justice. There was only one problem with that plan.

" _I'MSORRYI'MSORRYI'MSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY –_ "

The teenage boy who was supposedly the most terrifying villain in Gotham, rolled helplessly on the floor, screaming and crying and _begging_ , begging forgiveness, a sobbing, irreconcilable wreck. He cried and kicked and screamed like a man who'd lost everything and been driven past the point of insanity. He smashed his face against the floor repeatedly, over and over again, tossing his body at the pavement as he continued to scream.

The sight of a crying teenager didn't console her. It didn't give her sweet satisfaction. It didn't make her feel _better_ about Constantine's death nor did she derive any form of pleasure from watching someone suffer incessantly. She wasn't… she wasn't _evil_. This – this wasn't what she wanted.

She casually approached the Spectre, watching as the Spirit of Vengeance hovered in the air above the boy who continued to slam his head into the floor and scream. She carefully looked over the being, unable to stop herself from speaking.

"What… did you show him?"

The Spectre did not respond. Instead, ever passively, the spirit of vengeance looked down upon the one on which vengeance was delivered. The only daughter of the Zatara family wondered if perhaps summoning the spirit of vengeance was such a great idea after all.

" **His guilt.** "

 _Guilt?_ She pursed her lips at the information. The Consultant felt guilt? She could not recall a time, _ever_ , when she had come across a villain who felt genuine remorse for the evils and atrocities they'd committed. But… if the Consultant felt guilt –

" _WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY MASTER?!"_

Reality itself _cracked_.

Despite the Spectre stopping time around them, a white-haired young man in a butler suit emerged from a _literal_ tear in the fabric of space and time, and Zatanna almost lost her breath at the sheer _scope_ of the tremendous demonic power the being was emitting. The cracks in the air began to spread outward, and she had a _bad_ , _bad_ feeling about it –

The sound of shattering glass hit her ears as all the cracks in the air spread out and reality fell away like a broken glass window. Gone was the frozen time of a nightclub, in its place, a thick void of nothingness combined by an eerie filter of cold. The floors were replaced with an unusual white rock, and along with the cold and darkness, there was absolute silence.

Horror dawned on her too late, when she looked into the horizon, and spotted the earth in all its glory. She grasped for her throat, her face rapidly paling the lack of oxygen provided courtesy of their forced teleportation. She opened her mouth and attempted to cast a spell – to _breathe_ – but the majority of her magic relied on her chants, on her speaking –

But one couldn't just _speak normally_ in the vacuum of space.

Being on the moon didn't change that fact either.

She would have questioned the sanity of the demon under the boy's command if she were not pitifully trying to rasp out words to use an anti-atmosphere spell. Did the demon not realize that bringing them to the moon would kill his master as well?

Her gaze fluttered over the spot where the Consultant was –

It was empty.

The Spectre waved his hand, and she found herself able to breathe again, rapidly taking in sharp breaths of air as quickly as she could. The white-haired demon in an elegant suit casually stalked forward, each and every footstep leaving massive imprints of his feet against the rocky surface of the moon.

"I would have fought you at my fullest on earth," the demon spoke, _spoke_ – _in space_ "However, Master Zack is rather attached to the planet, and it would not do for me to destroy it by accident as I eliminate every speck of your existence from every conceivable universe."

The demon's eyes were replaced with an inky darkness. Pupils, eyeballs, sclera – all of it gone, in its place, a thick void emptier and vaster than the very limitlessness of space itself.

" **Does a demon truly believe itself capable of quenching the vengeance of god?"**

The demon in question craned his neck. Sickening _pops_ echoed out, defying common sense as sound should not have been capable of travelling through space. Slowly, the demon's arms extended into thick, dark blades.

"My name is Nezumi." He said, taking a long, formal bow. "The only god I recognize, is Master Zack…"

The demon _flared_ his power.

"… **And I am his wrath.** "

The moon _shattered_.

* * *

XXXXXXX

* * *

He came from a rat.

A tiny, insignificant rat, starving and barely capable of finding the basest of scraps to eat. A being lacking even the tiniest amounts of sapience, reliant on nothing but animalistic instincts. From a rat, he died. Death, the end of all things, he supposed would have been the curtain-call of his existence. Alas, it was not to be.

Master Zack had other plans in mind. Master Zack brought him back from the great beyond. Master Zack made him feast upon the living flesh of his inferior species, and from then on, he became stronger. He feasted on the flesh of those above him in his food chain, cats and serpents fled in terror when he prowled and roared. And Master Zack, locking himself up within that apartment for years, neither eating nor sleeping, brought him up from _nothing_.

He had almost forgotten. No. He _had_ forgotten. The thousands of years spent in hell, devouring and fighting, claiming and conquering, slaying and monstering had stripped him of the basic memories of his origins. He had conquered entire nations and tribes of demonic beings, sired dozens of ignorant heirs who foolishly attempted to overthrow his reign, and within his dimension, he had slayed beings comparable to gods.

Emerging from that realm, being _summoned_ back into the human world – he had not expected it. When he met with his master after millennia, he did not recognize him. But, his Master remembered _him_. His Master _made_ him remember. The being who elevated him from the status of a common rat to the status of a being akin to a god –

He could not, _would not_ , forget him.

Already, within the few weeks of his return, he slayed yet again another demon, defeated, yet again another charlatan with grand powers, consumed, yet again, an immortal half-demon sorcerer. The thrill of new meals, of battle, of a profound purpose, of once more serving the being who gave him the opportunity to be all that he was –

Nezumi let out a triumphant roar as his fist barreled into the green-cloaked being. No sound was made from the impact, nothing, except a wall of force and wind, an indescribable explosion of light and heat generating outward akin to a rabbit sitting in the middle of a nuclear explosion –

The remaining fragments of the moon evaporated into dust in lieu of the attack. The planet's satellite gone, as Nezumi looked straight ahead to evaluate the damage he had done –

His fist lay on the skin of the ghostly being, who slowly skidded backwards in the void of space –

 _Unblemished_.

It had been several million years since the butler demon felt utter, unconcealed disbelief.

 _What madness –_

" **Motivation alone cannot defeat his vengeance.** " The being spoke. " **You are not strong enough, demon.** "

 _Not strong enough?_

For years, centuries _,_ _eons_ – his existence was nothing but battle and bloodshed! Of consuming and feeding! Of conquering and slaying! _For OVER FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS!_

Nezumi _roared._ "I WILL NOT FAIL MASTER ZA –"

The beam was all consuming. Larger than entire planets. Perhaps as large as entire _stars_. He did not see it coming. There was little opportunity to have evaded it, nor was he capable of evading it. White, _pure_ holy light – a form of sacred holiness that spoke only of the sort of power one achieved through natural means. A power that was all-encompassing, that was not _earned_ through millions of years of struggle or battle, but a power that simply _was_.

A being who trained and became godlike was incomparable in power to a being that was naturally divine.

He was not afforded time to voice his discovery. Nor was he afforded time to offer any last remarks, any parting thoughts, any sentiments or final verbal or mental middle-fingers. All that the strongest minion of Zack Cabrera could feel in his final moments, was an overwhelming sense –

Of failure.

* * *

XXXXXXXXX

* * *

The nightmare ended.

The scene of my mother's rotting face, screeching at me over and over and over again, asking me why I abandoned her, why I _failed to save her_ , finally came to a close.

I breathed hard, blinking what felt like tears out of my eyes and coughing up the disgusting taste of vomit from my mouth. My gaze flickered from left to right, trying to remember where I was and what I was doing. What was I… what had I been doing? Who attacked me?

The answer hit me in the form of the floating man and billowing green cape.

I wheezed.

The Spectre.

The _bloody_ Spectre, floated before me, in all his amazing glory. Time was frozen, and the world seemed to be crumbling into a facsimile of indescribable jigsaw puzzles, and I couldn't tell if this was purely in my head or if it was in reality, because when it came to the Spectre, the line was heavily blurred. I still didn't know _how_ he'd fucked with my head despite **Gamer's** **Mind** and trapped me in that looping illusion.

" **Isaac Zachariah Cabrera**."

Listening to my name, _my real name_ , being spoken by the Spectre didn't do anything to calm me down. If anything, I was beyond and above the point of freaking out, that moment when you realize and comprehend that freaking out will do no good, and you shove aside the instinct to flee or hyperventilate.

Instead, I looked up to the Spectre, and I decided to do, possibly the most insane thing in the world.

"Fuck. You."

I _swore_ at him.

Of all the possibilities I anticipated, of all the responses, ranging from a sudden attack, to a beam of all consuming energy, to perhaps, a tirade about my numerous crimes against humanity, the very one I did not anticipate, was the one that happened.

" **He wants to see you.** "

A cold chill ran down my spine.

 _He?_

"Wh –"

No words could escape my lips as I watched my body slowly begin to crumble into dust.

 **WARNING!**

 **WARNING!**

 **HEALTH CRITICAL!**

 **HEALTH CRITICAL!**

 **HEAL –**

Panic and terror tore through my mind as I gestured my hand out, a futile attempt to do _something –_ only to watch as it, too, turned to dust.

 **Auto-Eject Enabled**

My soul _tore_ out of the sandy mist that was all that was left of my body, my eyes wide as I stared down in disbelief –

The Spectre's gaze locked upon my incorporeal soul, sending even more and more shivers running through me.

I _fled_.

Or at least, I _tried_ to.

The Spirit of Vengeance appeared in front of me, obstructing my path, his hand swinging forward and grabbing me as though I were not a soul. It felt like all the gravity of a planetoid object was holding me in place, making me freeze at the sheer bullshit strength of the cosmic being. His hand grabbing my by the _ear_ as though I was a troublesome child, and in an instant, he dragged me up along with him.

Up.

Up.

Up.

The Iceberg Lounge vanished in the distance, becoming a speck in my vision. Gotham City vanished, becoming mere lights amongst fog, and we _kept going_ , further, and _further_ –

The entire country of America was visible as we shot past the stratosphere, then, the entire continent, my eyes flickered over to the side as I recognized the Watchtower, realizing that we'd shot past it in a fraction of a second.

"Where are you taking me?!" I screamed.

The Spirit of Vengeance did not respond.

Earth became a pale blue dot. We shot past Mars, past Venus, and I almost screamed again as I found myself amongst the asteroid belts that made the rings of Jupiter. Incorporeal as we were, we phased through them harmlessly.

And we _kept going_.

The world began to tint itself blue in my vision, as the horrifying realization that I was no longer in the Milky Way Galaxy crept up on me. Further and further and further, my eyes watched as stars and supernovas blurred by in the background. I laughed in terror when we shot past a black hole, completely unaffected by its gravitational pull, and there were tears streaming from my eyes as I laughed even more, when we phased through the explosion of several stars.

It could have been seconds, or it could have been minutes, I could not tell. All I knew was that by the time we had stopped – stars weren't even visible anymore. There was no light, from anywhere. There was nothing but complete and utter darkness, a void of silence and space, the only objects or matter visible for millions of kilometers were myself and The Spectre.

 _The end of the observable universe_. I laughed. _I'm at the end of the observable universe._

It was here, eventually, that I saw it. A massive, gargantuan wall. It was made of… _people?_ No, more than that – giants, beings, _aliens_ , all sorts and manners of beings that I'd never seen yet alone heard of before. The wall's length seemed to go on and on and on, larger than planets, larger than _stars_ –

I knew what it was. How could I not? Yet, I didn't even _think_ out the name – I didn't _dare_ –

Was… was this the Spectre's punishment for me?

I realized that we weren't slowing down in the slightest, and I began panicking.

 _Nonononononono –_

I swung my fist at the Spectre, ignoring the fact that it did little damage. I reached out for my Soul Magic, trying any and everything I could think of –

" **Master Soul Drain! Master Body Possession! Soul Bondage! Soul Slavery! Soul Conditioning!** "

The Spectre didn't even bother with them. He didn't even bother trying to defend against them. They were _too weak_ to do anything against him.

I couldn't do anything but let myself be dragged.

Dragged, until eventually, we slammed right into the wall.

My vision burned white, and my consciousness ended.

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

"Really, such unnecessary amount of rough handling –" a voice said. "Yes, yes, I said give the boy an impression he would not long forget – but dragging him through the Source Wall?"

I was awake.

Considering that 'I' was nothing more than a soul at the moment, there was no lethargy or transition between unconsciousness and consciousness. One moment, I wasn't conscious, and the next, I was fully alert.

I found myself sitting on a couch, a very, _very_ comfortable couch. The room I was in was white, pristine, pure white. The overwhelming _whiteness_ of it hurt at my eyes, as though each and every aspect of that color was made from white stars. It was easily the _whitest_ thing I'd ever seen, and I couldn't help but bring up my hand to my eyes to stop it from burning them.

My eyes were _spiritual_ , yet –

"A little bit too bright, is it?" I heard the voice say again. "Let me adjust that for you."

The brightness reduced, slowly, until, eventually, I could adjust my eyes to see the room properly. My mind was whirling with thoughts and questions, and I didn't know where to start –

At least, until I spun my gaze around and eventually, my eyes landed on a slightly rotund man.

He was dressed in an immaculate pristine suit, there was a moustache on his face and a certain… _kindness_ to his eyes. He looked like he could be the star of a family sitcom, possessing just the kind of appeal that would be used for the character everyone loved, like a wise old grandpa, or a genial father. There was an inexplicable _warmth_ to him that made him feel so… _friendly._ I couldn't help but shake off the feeling that I knew him, that he was someone very, very close to me.

Then, my eyes went up.

 **The Presence**

Ah.

I swallowed deeply.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

The Presence looked at me with that same warm smile.

" **It has been a while, Isaac**." His voice had a mellifluous quality to it. Like I was being baptized with honey and overwhelming compassion.

"We – we've met before." It was a question, yet, I couldn't help but phrase it as a statement.

" **Of course.** " He said, still with a kindly voice. There was a little bit of mirth in his voice, at least, I _believed_ it was mirth.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know _how_ to say it. The Presence was… the Presence. The most powerful entity in the entire DC Multiverse. So… what was I supposed to do?

Was this… was this how I died?

Before even getting a chance to conquer the world –

Before doing _anything?_

" **Would I really bring you here just so I could kill you, Isaac?** "

I flinched.

The Presence was sitting now. He had a chair, a throne? He sat comfortably on his throne, before smiling at me.

His smile made me anxious.

 _Why wasn't my Gamer's Mind helping here?!_

" **Would you like some refreshments? Tea? Wine? Perhaps some snacks? You are rather fond of pizza and Chinese noodles after all.** "

As he spoke, each of those items appeared in front of me on a table. Tea, in an elegant mug which had the words "Greatest Dad in the Multiverse" on the side, and there was wine brought in a golden goblet, the snacks consisted of oreos, malteezers, and lays potato chips. Pizza appeared as well, and then, a large bowl of steaming hot ramen.

I stared at the food, and then back at the Presence, still smiling at me.

 _His smile made me anxious_.

"Am I here to be punished?" I asked.

" **Do you feel you are deserving of punishment?** "

"No." I said.

" **And why do you feel that?** "

I took in a deep breath.

"Because this – _this isn't real_. None of this is real. You – you're just a fictional character in a world I consume as entertainment. The people aren't real – the heroes, villains, aliens – _they're comic book characters._ "

Ha.

Ha.

I just told _God_ that he was a comic book character.

Is this how I die?

The Presence did not stop smiling, not in the slightest.

" **Is that what you feel?** "

I grit my teeth. "It's what I _know_. I didn't choose to be here! I didn't want to enter some bullshit crazy world filled with alien warlords and conspiracies and people dressed in bat costumes! I don't want to _die_ in this world – I don't want to _live_ in it!"

The Presence, slowly, nodded.

" **But…** **you did.** "

I blinked at the response.

"What?"

" **You wanted to live in this world. More than anything.** " The Presence closed his eyes. " **It was your fondest dream. To meet the Kryptonian hero of your dreams and be his sidekick. To become acquaintances with the Dark Knight and solve crimes together. All you wanted… was to be a hero.** "

I laughed. "That's bullsh –"

" **Your name was Timothy.** "

I choked on my laughter.

" **In the world you came from, the world you feel is your "reality" that you desperately wish to return to,"** A wispy mirror appeared in the middle of the room, and on it, I saw… a boy. " **You were a young man who was paralyzed from the neck down in the aftermath of a serious accident."**

"That's…" I stopped.

Memories began to rush to the surface.

" **Despite your accident, you were an unusually happy and cheerful soul. You consumed hours upon hours of entertainment, in lieu of being unable to move. You had friends whose lives you brightened – people you inspired because of how you were unwilling to let your condition ruin your outlook on the world."**

The images changed. A boy, on a bed, laughing cheerfully, someone placing headphones on his ears as he watched Let's Play videos on Youtube, and then streamed anime from pirated sources –

" **At a point, however, you noticed something. Your family spent a large amount of money on you, a large amount of time on you, your mother and father argued and quarrelled over the tasks, your siblings worked harder and sacrificed relationships and opportunities to care for you. Feed you. Change you.** "

A burning sensation tore down my throat. The images warped to two figures, screaming and yelling at each other, pushing each other, whilst a boy laid on a bed, tears streaming down his face.

" **You did not want it. You did not want your family to constantly sacrifice their happiness for yours. You did not feel like you could live with yourself, if that happened."**

It was getting harder and harder for me to breathe. More and more images came, the boy, using what limited resources he could –

" **You left a voice-to-text note on your laptop. You planned, planned, carefully, with as much dedication and will as a person who could only move his head and neck could. And, you found a way."**

Another image, a boy, falling off a wheelchair, falling – falling – falling –

" **Your letter was upbeat, as far as suicide letters go. You told your family and friends not to be sad, not to feel as though it was their fault – that, in the end, the best way for them to mourn for you, would be for them to move on with their lives and be happy.** "

The final image was of the boy, on the floor, smiling.

" **You only wanted them all to be happy.** "

The images ended.

The Presence locked his gaze back on me. " **It is rare to find such a self-sacrificial soul. Had the Blue Lantern Corps existed in your dimension, there is no doubt that you would have been deemed worthy of a ring. You are no Saint Bro'Dee Walker by any means, but, you have heart.** "

For the first time.

The first time –

 _The Presence stopped smiling._

" **Rather,** **you** _ **had**_ **heart."**

My throat was dry. Despite being a spirit, my throat was unquenchably dry.

" **You were one of those few souls in your dimension deemed worthy of reincarnation. Other worlds were even offered to you – but, you** _ **chose to be here**_ **. You chose, to live your live afresh, devoid of all your memories, devoid of anything but the memories of franchises, fictional worlds, sciences, arts and entertainment you loved."**

I was sweating now.

" **And look at how far you've come.** " The tone of the statement was not warm. " **From a paragon of selflessness to…** _ **this**_ **."**

The Presence stared down at me.

" **I'm disappointed.** "

I recoiled from the words as though I'd been shot.

I had to think… to _think_ of something –

"Gotham City." I stammered. "Why… why put me in Gotham City? Why not put me somewhere else? Somewhere that I'd grow up and become… good?"

" **You requested to be born from humble beginnings, in three cities."** The Presence said, and once more, two portals with images appeared. " **In a parallel world, the version of you born as the son of a struggling salaryman in Metropolis is currently in the Justice League. You are dating the younger Kryptonian, and your worst offense there is voyeurism."**

The image of a person that _looked_ exactly like me appeared, laughing and partying with the Flash and kissing Supergirl.

" **In another parallel world, the version of you born in Central City to a homeless heroin-addicted couple, is now a hero fighting for justice with the Teen Titans, your greatest struggle is the love triangle between yourself, the daughter of Trigon, and the Tamaranian."**

I saw myself again, looking slightly different, in terms of hair and eyes, but there was no mistaking it. There, Starfire hung off my shoulders, and I blushed at her, whereas Raven lurked in the background, gritting her teeth in irritation.

" **And then there is you – born in Gotham City to a prostitute and a villain. You have no friends to speak of, no relationships, no family or ties, you had nothing but an evil minion and a secret base with three conflicting identities."**

There was one word that stuck out to me.

 _Had?_

"If – if I'd been born elsewhere – I wouldn't –"

" **I know**." The Presence said. " **That is why I am disappointed."**

I didn't understand why those words _stung_.

" **I believed, at the very least, that it would be the version of you who faced the most adversity, who was born in the most struggling of circumstances, that would become the greatest hero. That you would rise above the darkness of your past… rather than use it as an excuse to justify yourself."**

I grit my teeth. "But – you're omniscient aren't you? Shouldn't you have known what I'd do… from the very beginning?"

" **I granted you free-will**." The Presence said, shaking his head. " **The Power that you possess, the power to view the universe as though it were a Game. I granted it to you, and it is the embodiment of True Free Will. With it, I cannot predict your actions or know your future. No one in the universe can. You are an antithesis to Destiny – and your actions are entirely your own."**

I'd suspected… I'd _suspected_ – but – hearing it _confirmed_ –

 _My Gamer Power came from the Presence._

I'd laugh if it was even remotely funny. I'd always known that the Gamer was powerful, but, the problem was, the Gamer was only as powerful as the being or entity that granted them their powers. The Game system and set-up had to come from _somewhere_ , had to be powered by _something_ , and whatever it was, it was the one thing that the Gamer could not destroy or defeat, lest the Gamer lose their power.

Han Jee-han couldn't be stronger than Gaia, because Gaia gave him his powers.

I could never be stronger than The Presence, because The Presence gave me my powers.

"So… what now?" I asked, feeling hollow. "What… what now?"

" **Now, you go back.** "

"I – you're sending me back?" I almost could not believe my ears. "Why?"

" **Because I have given you free-will."** A chill ran up my spine. " **I am disappointed in what you used it for, but I cannot blame you for using it that way anymore than a father can be angry at his son spending all his pocket money on buying gold keychains.** "

"But what I've done –"

" **Your actions have consequences, many of which have already sprung into motion.** " The Presence said simply. " **Perhaps, a day will come when it is 'Game-Over' and we shall evaluate whether or not your existence in this world was a curse or a blessing. Or perhaps not.** "

"And even if I continue down the path I've chosen?" I said, slowly. "If I continue… doing what I'm doing… being… as I am… will you… stop me?"

" **No. It is not my place to interfere. Good or evil, right or wrong, whatever path you follow and whatever outcomes they bring, it will be your own doing."**

I rubbed my hand through my hair slowly, before putting my fingers in a contemplative steeple.

"Is… is this real? This world, you, any of it – I mean, it's all fiction… right?"

" **For a world that is nothing but fiction, you wept a lot for the loss of a mother.** "

My breath stilled.

" **Did she feel real to you?** "

Slowly, remembering that scene before that horrific nightmare, of her scent, her touch, her _warmth –_

"Yes." I whispered.

The Presence smiled at me.

" **Then you decide for yourself, Isaac. What is real, and what isn't?** "

The Presence had a fatherly air to him. One that I couldn't shake off despite how overwhelmingly powerful he was. Slowly, he approached me, placing a hand on my shoulder and staring at me with shining white eyes.

" **For the longest time, you justified your actions out of spite and rage and the feeling that you were unjustly put on this world to suffer. Now, you know the truth."**

His eyes shined even brighter, _brighter,_ completely blinding me.

" **What will you do with it?"**

* * *

 **XXXX**

* * *

I staggered to the floor as someone jostled me.

"Oi! Watch it man!"

The sound of music blaring in the air, the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, and the sight of barely clad women walking around instantly reminded me of where I was – the Iceberg Lounge.

I became aware of the fact that I was absolutely drenched with sweat, and people were giving me odd looks as I sat on the floor, with wide eyes, breathing and panting wildly.

 **Main Quest – Justice and Vengeance!**

 **Quest Failed!**

 **Details: You were killed by the Spectre.**

 **Your Minion [Nezumi] has been destroyed.**

 **Other Details:**

 _ **What will you do Isaac?**_

I pushed aside the notification and jumped to my feet, swallowing nervously.

"Dude, are you okay?"

I flickered my gaze to the side. In lieu of everything, I'd almost forgotten about him, about his existence and presence here, about the fact that we'd gone to a strip club because I wanted to make him have some fun. Lucian's worried eyes entered my vision, and I didn't know what to say.

"Did you… lose your virginity…?"

He gave me two rapid nods.

"Was it… good?"

"Best. Feeling. Ever."

I nodded my head, slowly. I felt dizzy. Dizzier than I had any right to be. Sick. Nauseated. I didn't know how to describe everything.

"Are you… okay?"

I offered him a weak smile. Funny, how it was always a nightclub that these things happened. I remembered, years ago, the first time I witnessed my mother dancing on a pole and when one of her co-workers lit the fire within me that spurned my desire to give her a better life. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"No. No – I'm not."

"Oh." Lucian frowned. "You – wanna talk about it?"

I looked over the thirteen year old boy, before shaking my head and taking a deep breath, ruffling his hair with my right hand.

"Don't worry about it. Adult problems."

"You're only sixteen."

 _Seventeen_. I mentally corrected. "Still older than you. Now come on, it's still a school night. Need to get you to bed early so you can brag to all the virgins at school tomorrow about leaving their ranks."

Lucian grinned. "Won't that piss off all the virgins?"

I managed a weaker smile.

"Yes. Yes, it will."


	18. Decision

**Author's Note:**

 **Most of you are wondering where I've been and what I've been up to.**

 **I haven't really been in a good place the last couple of months. I'm an atheist, (which should be pretty obvious) but I live in a really conservative society, and it got out that I don't believe in an almighty sky daddy.**

 **After more than a dozen intervention sessions and being dragged off to "Deliverance" where men pray and splash me with water to get me to "see the wrongness of my ways" I got sick of shit, left home, traveled a long bloody way and I've been staying with a friend from college.**

 **This is usually the part where I tell you that I'm in need of help and give you my pat - on account, but I don't believe in earning money from writing fan fiction. I don't believe I should fucking get paid for playing around in someone's hard-built world.**

 **I'd rather create my own.**

 **And I did.**

 **As of last week, my novel _Janus and Oblivion -_ Book 1 of _The Nightmares of Alamir_ hit the Amazon Stores. Inspired by _Overlord_ and _I'm a Spider, so what?_ it's the reason I haven't updated any of my stories in a long while. I've been working on it between jobs and it's the first book in what will hopefully be a series of books. It's also got a paperback version - and it'd be cool to realize that I've actually made something of mine.**

 **I'd like to give a shout out to** **Wysrd, lubabpaul, Dominus1389,justlovereadin, CursedWriter69, Tsunashi777, eddy14, Gosster, Podge0303, nwordmuffin Beowulf Anarchy, Bolondka, Riftar Pokemaster, MKaius, Ascandas and everyone else who sent me so much as a "We miss your work" or a "You dead?" it gave me the unexpected motivation to keep on writing.**

 **If you'd like to support me, rather than donating to me for writing fan fics, please buy my book - _Janus and Oblivion_ , and it'll mean the world to me.**

 **Now, back to the story.**

* * *

 **Re-Cap:** _Shit went down last chapter, Zack met the Presence. Nezumi got smoked, Zatanna's fate is yet unknown, and our protagonist faces the greatest foe that has stifled philosophers since ancient times: making an important decision._

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **Sewer-System**

 **Hidden Location**

The sewers reverberated with humming. Feminine humming of an upbeat tone in repetitive iambics basked in the clacks of irregular footsteps. Boots connected against muddy water and cobbled stone. The humming matched each step. A beam of light extended from a torch and parted the darkness where dozens of sewer rats bathed in a mix of sewage water and unmentionables.

"Shoo! Shoo! Scram you damn dirty rodents!"

The rats of Gotham's sewers scurried. Three fell into the water and thrashed. Bubbles and ripples emerged as they diverged different paths, and the sound of humming resumed. Boots emerged from water and grime, and landed on stone. A long, satisfied sigh graced darkness and foul stench.

"There ain't no place like home!"

The sound of creaking metal followed the declaration. A circular door swung open slowly, the telltale signs of age and rust announcing itself with a long winding squeak. Boots once more continued to clack against stone, and the door shut with another proclamation of the damages of time.

"Pumpkin! Pumpkin I'm back! And I brought something!"

Boots clacked a final time, before small huffs, and they were removed from soft tender feet.

"Brrr! It's chilly in here! We oughtta light something to keep warm. Don't want to be catching a cold so soon after gettin' free."

Plain feet connected with ceramic floors. Step, by step, they advanced. "Mistah J? Pumpkin? Where are you?"

The feet stopped. "Are we playing a game Mistah J?"

Rats scampered across leaky pipes overhead. Steady droplets of water dripped unto an ever growing puddle. Fluorescent light bulbs flickered, increasing and decreasing continuously in brightness.

"…Mistah J?"

Muffled noises engulfed the hideout. Whams and thuds followed. The barefoot woman increased her pace immediately.

"Mistah J! You didn't tell me we were having a gue –"

Grocery and shopping bags fall to the floor like thunder. The sight before her is something that is familiar and foreign at the same time. A man upside down and held by his ankles. His face battered and broken and bruised. Splatters of blood on his clothes and around him. All of this, she knows, all of this, she has seen before.

Except, she has never seenit be _him_ who was tied up.

She has never seen a blond-haired, blue-eyed teen, clad in a dark singlet, slamming his fist into his stomach. She has never seen two people, dressed like spooks with their black suits and thick shades, standing beside the teen like bouncers.

"WHAT D'YA THINK YOU'RE DOING TO MISTA –"

"Shut up and sit down."

Her lips slam shut and her but slams unto the floor. She stares at the traitorous things in confusion. At her lips, that would not budge. At her legs, that would not rise. Instead, she merely sat, and stared onwards, stared at the boy, who slammed his fist into her pudding's stomach, again, and again.

"Harley, I'm sure you're familiar with these two."

The boy gestured at the bouncers. It takes her a second to recognize them. From the nightclub. The one that slammed a drug into her system and the other one that she riddled with bullet holes. Now, there were no holes. There were no bullets or evidence that she killed them – and she knew she did. _She knew_.

He sees the look in her eyes. He smiles. Something foreboding runs down her spine.

"I met God and he told me he disappointed he was in me, so I thought I'd meet the other end of the spectrum and see what they thought."

The boy cracked his knuckles. He turned his direction once more to her pudding, and he slammed his fist into his stomach again. Her pudding's mouth was covered, but the muffled cry still hurt her.

"But when I met with him, before I can even get out a single word, he does… this."

The gag falls off his mouth, and her pudding… _laughs._

He's laughing, laughing more hysterically than she can ever remember him laughing before. Laughing until water is leaking from his eyes and he does not stop laughing. The sound is foreign and familiar, uncomfortable and soothing. The laughter does not seem to have a final point. It peaks, and when it reaches a moment where it appears to stop, it starts off again, stronger and better than before.

The boy gags him again. Two tired eyes turn in her direction. "I asked him what he found so funny. He barely managed to stop laughing for a single second to give me an answer. Do you know what he said?"

She shook her head.

" _Everything_."

A chair materialized out of thin air. She blinked, and the boy was sitting on it. "Everything," the boy said. "And he continued laughing. He looked at me… and couldn't stop laughing."

Wheels emerged from the chair, and the boy swiveled around in it. "It had me thinking, you see. The reality, or unreality of things. Your boyfriend over there is one of the few people in the world who can recognize a joke when he sees one. If the reaction he had when seeing me has any meaning, it means there's a joke being told, and I didn't get it."

She wasn't getting anything. Nothing at all was making sense. The boy seemed to be aware of this, but was talking to her anyway. Some part of her, the part that was Harleen Quinzel, Ph.D. in Psychology, could recognize the signs of someone who was desperately seeking attention and affirmation. Encouragement, understanding and companionship. She did not know how to give it to him when she could neither move nor speak.

"I'm the Consultant, in case you were wondering who this crazy person that tied up your clown is."

She felt herself choke a bit. The man responsible for the Disheartening. The boogeyman that her pudding said he would like to meet. He probably didn't want to meet him like this.

"I had an excellent butler once, but the Spirit of Vengeance killed him. I don't know any other psychologists, and even though you're semi-insane and a criminal, I heard you're good at your job. So I'm going to ask you one question, and one question only. If you say anything else, do anything else, or make any moves –"

The female bodyguard removed a sleek black pistol from her suit pocket, and she pointed it directly at her pudding's temple. She understood immediately.

"Are you familiar with the Ship of Theseus? The Grandfather's Axe?" The swiveling chair turned into a throne. The boy sat, crossed his legs, and placed one hand on his cheek.

She could move her lips again. She turned her gaze to her pudding. Her pudding was rolling his eyes at something. She wasn't sure if this was the question she was to answer.

"It's tossed around in philosophy, when arguing about the self. To paraphrase, Theseus leaves Macedonia with his ship and a thousand men and sails to Egypt. Along the way, they fight sea monsters and face storms, and the parts of the ship are broken and replaced. Many of the crew die and are replaced. The hull, the deck, the sails, more and more is taken away and replaced. By the end of his journey to Egypt, every single part of the original ship, and every member of the original crew has been replaced. Is it _still_ the same ship?"

The boy spun around on his throne. "The Grandfather's Axe works on the same principle. Your Grandfather has an axe. Your father replaces the handle. You replace the head. Is it _still_ your grandfather's axe?"

Sweat dribbled down the back of her neck. She didn't know where the Consultant was going with this. She was not equipped to interpret the craziness of people aside from her pudding.

"So let's bring in another thought experiment."

The temperature dropped. She could see her breath coalesce in front of her face.

"You are a nearly omnipotent, nearly omniscient, nearly omnipresent being who whisks away a selfless, virtuous soul from their world, and puts them in a new world without any _memories_ , without any inkling, any speck, any aspect of the things that made said person selfless and virtuous."

The Consultant's eyes sparkled.

"In this new world, you put them in the worst place in existence, with the belief that they will continue to be selfless and virtuous, while _lacking_ any of the experiences that made them selfless and virtuous. You take away _everything_ that made a good person _good_ , and expect the person's innate 'goodness' to outshine his circumstances. The question is…"

The throne vanished. The man approached, his feet silent. His haunting blue eyes stared her down.

"Does it?"

Her lips, dry and cold, opened.

"…no?"

The Consultant clapped.

"Good answer."

The gunshot deafens her. She flinches from the noise and the residual high-pitched whine. When her eyes open, it is to the sight of brains splattered across the floor. The smell of blood and specks of gray-matter outwards in a conical pattern from the point of impact. The gag slips off his mouth, and what is left of his face is exposed in a wild, happy smile.

She screams.

"Quiet."

Her jaw slams upwards and her lips are locked like she swallowed an overly sour lemon. The Consultant is saying something. She isn't listening. She can't hear him. Her gaze is fixated on her pudding. On his permanently etched smile and the top part of his head that is nothing but shattered bone, blood and chunks of exposed flesh.

"Here's a follow-up question." The Consultant placed his right hand over her head. "Without any memories of ever meeting or encountering the Joker – is Harley Quinn _still_ Harley Quinn?"

There was nothing but amusement in the Consultant's cold blue eyes.

"Practical Philosophy 101. Let's find out."

Another scream was buried within the sewers of Gotham City. A woman, fell backwards, bereft of years of memories, love and affection. A boy dusted his hands, took a deep breath and released it, exhaling pure satisfaction.

"What should we do with the Joker's body, sir?"

"Copy his bio-signatures and eliminate every last trace. Every speck of blood, every potential source of DNA. The Joker may be dead, but there isn't any reason the world needs to know. Not while we can use his reputation."

"Understood sir. And sir, if I may?"

"Yes?"

"It's good to have you back sir."

"It's good to be back, Mr. Whiskers. It's good to be back."

 **Plot Progression!**

 **The Evil Overlord's List – Part I**

 **Some of the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. In this case, an unseen circumstance has enabled the Batman's Rogues' Gallery to be freed from Arkham Asylum, and to wreak chaos on Gotham. It is up to you to put them in their place and continue your plans for the domination of the city.**

 **Special Objective:**

 **Recruit or Eliminate the Joker [Complete!]**

 **You chose to eliminate the Joker.**

* * *

~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~

* * *

 **Gotham City**

The bike tore through the streets. Fast enough to whip up skirts, send papers flying in the wind and be perceived as nothing more than a blur, I embraced the rush of the wind against my face and could not help the wild smile breaking out against my lips.

I tore past a red-light and past a hidden patrol vehicle. The officers did not give chase, for they were implanted homunculi agents, and this was my city. _Gotham_ was my city. I could walk into the police station, shoot a four-year old in the face, and walk out without issue. More than eighty percent of police officers there were mine. The twenty percent would protest, but it would be a rather short protest.

The roar of the engine and the sensation of high speeds sent the adrenaline pumping in me into overdrive, and my lips opened to laugh. I laughed, and I laughed even further when I realized how much of an idiot I'd been for so long.

I doubted the Presence expected me to travel down this path. I didn't mind. He made it easy for me. He told me, _reminded_ me, of a person I once was, of this wonderful selfless person who he picked and brought into this world and then _gave free will_ –

And he said he was disappointed.

Thinking over the conversation again and again and again, that was where he made two fatal flaws. The first was having _expectations_. The second, was _reminding me_.

"Hey, there god, presence, whatever." I said to the air. Over the roar of the bike I could barely hear my own voice. "I don't know if you're listening or not, but… I want to thank you."

I made a hard left down a street, whizzing by several of Legend Industries legionnaires who were patrolling the area. Discreetly, they saluted. I observed them protect key landmarks, assist people in daily construction, and be the face that I needed them to be.

"You asked me, what I would do, now that I knew the truth."

Round a corner, I spotted deals going on. NZT was spreading like wildfire, and the more people who ingested it, the more people I could overtly or covertly manipulate. The more people that would find themselves smarter than normal, but lacking direction and purpose and a way to channel that smartness. The more people who would be going to the polls to vote Makarov Dreyer, and agreeing with every decision and policy he made.

"I decided that I'll do whatever it is I want to."

New buildings were being constructed by Legend Constructions. The blocked roads were occupied with workers in their bright orange vests and protection hats, with heavy machinery lifting bars and concrete. Banners indicating the names of the facilities were still obscured with black polyethylene. 'Rehabilitation' centers. Correctional facilities. Research laboratories. Places to channel intellect towards the building of a super-city. Towards the transformation of Gotham to become out of the cyberpunk genre, only without the usual oppressive corruption.

"Timothy was a great guy," I told the wind. "It's great that he faced so much and was able to keep being a good person. Good that he inspired hope. But, you're wrong about one part."

I slowed the bike as I approached school areas. Slow enough to be seen, slow enough to avoid needlessly running over a four-year old crossing the street.

"Timothy wasn't selfless. He didn't want to be a burden to other people, because he didn't like the feeling he got when he realized how much he burdened other people. He always smiled and was cheerful and happy, because he was desperate to give people a reason to want to be around him. A reason to like him, even if it was putting him on a pedestal as a person who didn't let life get him down. He was cheerful, because being a downer paraplegic would make people abandon him, and more than anything – he didn't want to be abandoned."

A bus filled with schoolchildren came up beside me. Two girls were at the window, I winked at them, tossed them my signature smile, and left them giggling as I revved the engine of my bike and tore away.

"Killing yourself because you don't want to ruin other people's lives sounds great. _He died because he wanted the people around him to be happy_. It's noble, when you put it that way, instead of he died because _he didn't want to be the reason_ _people around him were sad._ "

The sight of a familiar high school approached, and I reduced my speed once more. The bike purred to a stop. I craned my neck and stretched my arms.

"To wake up and realize that you were the cause of your loved one's unhappiness. To see their agony. Listen to their turmoil. Watch them hold bitterness as they make sacrifice after sacrifice for your sake. They would, they would do it, because they love you. But you – you can't stand it. _You_ can't bear to watch it. _You_ can't live with it."

"I'm not Jesus. I was never an extraordinary person with extraordinary limits of selflessness. I was just a person… like everyone else, just a person. Maybe it's a misconception, maybe it's not. Maybe I'm remembering things wrongly since you only gave me brief glimpses of my past life, or maybe I'm not. But I do know one thing."

I spotted my target approaching, and I took a soft, deep breath. "I'm not that person anymore. Timothy is dead, along with everything that made him Timothy, good and bad. Now, I'm Zack. Zack Cabrera. Son of Eva, child of Gotham. I'll do questionable things because I want to. I'll make the world a better place because I have to – I mean really, this world is seriously lacking in lightsabers and space colonies."

I turned to Gotham's cloudy sky. "I guess what I'm saying is, I'm not a paragon of good or Satan's personal shoulder demon. I'm just a person. I'm just a flawed, selfish human being who's going to live his life how he wants it."

"I'm sorry that disappoints you. I'm sorry I realized too late how little I should care about your disappointment."

I closed my eyes, and took in another fresh breath of Gotham air.

"Best regards, the-man-who-will-one-day-overthrow-you, Zachariah Cabrera."

It felt like a new day.

"Who are you talking to?"

Evelyn stared at me uncertainly. Her backpack was slung over her left shoulder, her clothes were notably of a different, more colorful, _newer_ shade than what she wore previously, and she tapped her left foot on the ground.

"Oh, don't mind me, just talking to God."

I reached for her bag and took it off her shoulders. "I didn't know you believed in God."

"Believe isn't really the word I'd use. He's more of an estranged dad who barely paid attention to you growing up but still expects you to enter an Ivy League College and become the next Stephen Hawking."

"Who's Stephen Hawking?"

I opened my mouth. "…I _really_ need to study up on the famous physicists we've got in this world."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, because you're not from this world."

"That's an odd way of saying I'm _out_ of this world, but yes, you're right on all counts."

"That's not what I –"

"Too late!" I tapped the seat. "Hop on. I'm about to give you the Aladdin magic carpet experience."

She stood awkwardly, staring at the bike. I could tell some whispers and comments were coming up from other students who saw her. I could hear the sound of her good-girl image dying with soft, breathless whimpers. She climbed on, inelegantly, and I _procured_ a helmet around her size before placing it on her head.

"Does this magic carpet come with a seatbelt?"

"Jasmine trusted Aladdin to be her seatbelt."

"Not her smartest move, trusting some shady character who appears out of nowhere with untold riches." Evelyn said. "Why did she do that again?"

I revved the engine. "…Because he sang?"

"I don't think that's – wait, don't tell me you're going to –"

" _I can show you the world~!"_

* * *

XxXxXxXxXxX

* * *

The taste of coffee lingered on my lips as I savored the aroma. For a Starbucks knock-off, I did have to admit that they made some decently good brews. Of course the waitresses kept giving me their numbers much to Evelyn's constantly growing irritation, and it was merely one of those days where I felt I could sit back and relax.

"So who's the leading physicist that proposed the concept of parallel realities? Quantum entanglement? You know, the proposition that every decision we makes creates a branching timeline in which the choices of that decision play out, and each further choices creates more decisions and creates an infinite number of universes."

"Albert Einstein."

I swallowed more coffee than I should have and almost choked. "You're joking."

Evelyn rose a book. Thick hardcover with the word PHYSICS emblazoned on in red on top and the picturesque Albert Einstein doing his rendition of the Thinker on it. "It's right here."

"Let's see that."

Stephen Hawking didn't exist in this world, and although some of his work was enabled by Einstein, there was no bloody way Einstein of the DC universe was the one to propose multiple realities.

Then again, the Einstein of the real world was a super-genius who could sit down at his table with nothing put pencil and paper and accurately deduce that the universe was constantly expanding. In a world where super-geniuses like Einstein were a normal occurrence, Einstein of this world had to be _tremendously_ smarter than them to have ever made the history books. His intelligence was no doubt above and beyond the version I knew.

"Well that's impressive."

"It's _Einstein_. Of course it's impressive." She grabbed the book from my hand. "And what's the deal with you suddenly asking all these physics questions?"

"Would you prefer if we researched our... _Chemistry?_ "

"You don't get out of this by flirting." She said. "You've been researching speculations on time travel, on alternate realities, Schrodinger's Cat, Quantum Theory –" Evelyn shook her head. "It's like you're trying to _change_ something – but all of this is theoretical, not unless you're the Flash."

I sip the coffee in front of me. A slow, long sip.

"Does this have anything to do with why you and my brother got back home so late that night three weeks ago, and were so out of it? Lucian has been acting weird ever since."

"Oh, that?" I placed the coffee back on the table. "I took your brother to a strip club where he got a blowjob and got laid for the first time. Real charisma booster."

Evelyn's face rapidly gained a red hue. "You – you _what?_ "

"Feeling left out?"

"No!" she said. "I can't believe – he's – _we're –_ I mean –"

"So, you _are_ feeling left out." I rose my hands in silent protest. "I'm a reformed man, and all for gender equality. If you feel you no longer want to be a virgin –"

"I'm _thirteen!_ "

"And so was your brother. But he's a guy, so it's not _really_ an issue if he got laid and liked it. Ah, but if you do, people could go to jail, no matter how much you _say_ you gave your consent. Double standards. Sucks right? If only we were in the Middle East."

She immediately starts grabbing her books. "I'm telling my mom."

I rose my thumbs. "You do that. In the meantime, _please_ use protection if you want to experiment with –"

"Not. Listening!"

I watched her storm away with a face the shade of a tomato. I knew it was more out of her own embarrassment than any real anger or heat. Still, she would tell her Naomi, because she was, in fact left out. The truth that most parents did not want to know was that once their children hit their teens, they fantasized almost endlessly about the wonders of sex.

Still, I watched her leave, and picked up my cup of coffee before sipping some more. There were other things I was thinking about, other things I had been thinking about since meeting the Presence. He provided me with far more information than he most likely intended to, and I was going to make full use of that information to the best of my abilities.

 **The Evil Overlord List** **–** **Part I**

 **It's time to fight smart and not hard. To avoid idiotic mistakes, and to take the smartest path to victory. Cheating? Underhanded tactics? Cowardly behavior? I think you mean – Common Sense.**

 **Main Objectives:**

 **Item One: Kidnap/Abduct Scarecrow and Poison Ivy to create the Super-Drug [Completed]**

 **Item Two: Create an army of Homunculi [Completed]**

 **Item Three: Have your army infiltrate the Police and have them distribute Super-Drug [Complete]**

 **Item Four: Makarov Dreyer Runs For Mayor [Complete]**

 **Item Five: 'Reform' the Villains of Gotham**

 **Bonus Objectives:**

 **Allergic to Red: Make your army an antithesis to Stormtroopers and Redshirts [Complete]**

 **On Their Own Volition: Have any Villain/Hero join your cause without forcing them [Complete]**

 **Total Makeover-City Edition: Eliminate Gotham's Crime Rate/Turn Gotham to a Utopia**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Rewards:**

 **Title: God of Gotham**

 **1.3m EXP**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **?**

 **Failure:**

 **Death/Incarceration**

 **Anarchy of Gotham**

"Great to know removing memories doesn't count as forcing someone to join me."

Dr. Harleen Quinzel was currently employed under Legend Industries, currently being 'tutored' on expected methods to properly evaluate and reform the criminals of Gotham. Of course, Legend Industries was also helping her with her rare form of Dissociative Identity Disorder, which happened to have taken away a huge deal of her memories from the past several years when she worked underneath a notorious criminal.

It was a shame she wasn't crazy anymore. There was a certain sexual appeal to her when she was.

I sipped the last of my coffee, and pushed aside the empty mug before rising to my feet. The TV volume in the coffee shop was low, and I could see something on the new about an upcoming debate between Mayoral Candidate Makarov Dreyer, and the current Mayor, Hamilton Hill.

 _Not if I have anything to say about it_.

"Alpha Command, patch me through to Agent 041 of the Aphrodite Squadron."

" _Agent 041, Betty Hammond, reporting sir._ "

"Ensure that a rather scandalous debacle involving Mr. Hill makes tomorrow's paper. Domestic assault, pedophilia, rape accusations – something shocking and rage inducing. Hamilton Hill is lacking financial backers since all the crime families are dead and he is standing on his last legs. I want those legs to become stumps and have him gored by the populace."

" _Understood sir._ "

There was only one task left to finally complete the first stage of this plan, and this task was something that needed _time_. The elections were in a couple of months, and I already knew Makarov Dreyer would win by a landslide, there was no particular reason to rush the timeline.

 _I have all the time in the world_.

As of now, it was _time_ for me to do something else with said time. It was something I'd thought of after meeting the Presence. However, the exact mechanics of how I would do it was something I needed to research upon, something I needed to know and understand before I decided to take such a massive leap of faith. Also, it helped to have an in-depth knowledge of the certain individuals of the world with this particular power in mind.

"Alpha Command, get me an Agent of the Aphrodite Squadron. Tell her to put on something orange… we'll be stepping out for a while."

* * *

 **XxXxXxX**

* * *

 **Hall of Justice**

It was a shame how grossly unappreciated and undervalued one of the true heroes of the DC Universe was. Almost as shameful as how easy it was to hack into the Hall of Justice's computer systems with **Master Animation**. Perhaps, that, was indeed just slightly less shameful as to how easy it was to _infiltrate_ the Hall of Justice.

Granted, the real hideout of the Justice League was the Watchtower, and the Hall was nothing more than a front, it still possessed members who lived in the hall and utilized it in order to ensure said front was working effectively.

" _Is this our target, sir?_ "

The nondescript Agent, asked, as we stood over the sleeping form of one of the actual true heroes of the world. A pizza box obscured his face and loud snoring noise escaped from his throat, but there was no mistaking that this was indeed the person I was here for. More accurately, I was here for his _technology_ , but who was keeping count of these things?

I removed the pizza box from his face. The blonde hair and smooth futuristic googles was hard to replicate. I could not kill him because making overt moves against the Justice League like killing one of their members was _not_ a smart thing to do. Instead, I rifled through his mind for the information I needed, and within minutes, I found it.

 _Let's go_.

Recreating it from the schematics and memories was difficult, but **Alteration** granted me domain to shape anything and everything I wanted to make. The small, golden orb in the form of a watch came to life, technology from a time far beyond what even my wildest imaginations was capable of.

" _Sir, if I may ask, what value does this orb possess?_ "

"It's smaller than Rip Hunter's ship."

Several seconds of **Alteration** , and the orb flared to life.

"Thank you, Michael Carter."

Michael Carter, otherwise known as the hero, Booster Gold, awoke with a snort and a start, collapsing over his chair and landing on the ground with a thud. He blinked, searching around his room and finding no one.

"…last time I order pineapples with my pizza."

Shrugging, Booster Gold yawned, and went back to sleep, unaware of the value of the information his mind had unwillingly distributed.

* * *

XxXxXxX

* * *

 **Gotham City**

The air was cleaner than I remembered. It lacked the distinct taint of dark magic used in the Disheartening. It lacked the oppressive, downtrodden aura of silence brought only by the hammer of death and oppression. It was still smoggy, and it was still cloudy, as Gotham was meant to be – but it was _noticeably_ different.

"Sir… we – I can't communicate with anyone from the Alpha Division!"

"Well that's expected. They don't exist yet."

The homunculi stared at me. "…sir?"

"I recreated the schematics of the technology Booster Gold uses from the 25th century. When we left the hall of justice, we did more than just teleport to Gotham."

The sight of old cars moving slowly around the street instead of the hybrid cars I was used to was a bit nostalgic. Everything, actually, was nostalgic.

"Sir… where… where are we?"

"Gotham City." I responded. "Sixteen years in the past."

It was rare to see my homunculi express emotion. Funny, and certainly worth a picture. Perhaps I should drop sudden bombs like this on them more often. I suppose they would find it exasperating, but I certainly would find it funny.

"We're here for two things and two things only. The goal is to change just _a little_ – enough that would make a difference, but not enough that will trigger the Flashpoint Paradox. It's why I didn't drain a speedster's powers and run back in time."

"Listen, and listen very, very closely, everything must be done _according_ to the letter. This is your most important mission yet. Do you understand?"

The agent bowed. "As you command, sir."

"Let's begin."

To alter the past in a manner that would not irrevocably alter the present. To go against my magically given curse of hubris and attempt to undo the sacrifice that was made. Some would claim that this was hubris upon hubris, madness upon madness. Some would look at me and spit in my direction for perverting the natural order.

I didn't care.

The Presence asked me once, _"Did she feel real to you?_ "

My mind could not stop thinking about it. It could not stop replaying, over and over again, the nightmare that the Spectre put me through. Seeing it, seeing the mistakes I made, it stuck worse and harder and harder than it should have. It was an indescribable itch in my throat that could not be scratched. A fire in my stomach that could not be quenched. A pain in my chest that failed to be soothed.

Finding my younger self was easy. I was in the abandoned building, as I would be for some time, for the days and weeks and months following her arrest and capture. It was easy, to make myself invisible. Easy, to sneak into the building. Easy to find him – me.

There was something odd about looking across myself, and seeing it. Seeing the barely one year old infant sitting in a dilapidated building, idly creating his first minion, a zombie rat. I was smaller than I expected, and my eyes were bereft of any light in them.

I wanted to speak. To tell myself 'it'll be okay' or 'you'll figure it out' and give some words of encouragement. Or maybe to yell at him and say, 'don't be an idiot' or 'killing the justice league shouldn't be your main goal'. One way or another, I wanted to look at the child bereft of everything he knew, confused and hurting, and I wanted to comfort him. Me.

But I couldn't.

I would change everything if I did that.

So, instead, I did what I came for.

Looking over the undead rat that would one day become my minion, I added an **Enchantment.** Hidden, deep, and it would only activate under specific conditions – it was something that would not change the future greatly.

Done with my first task, I turned away. One last look at the child I was, one last temptation at the urge to do something, and I pushed onwards – leaving without ever being noticed. The past was done and dusted, but the future, _my_ future – it still held potential.

Making my way to the courthouse was difficult, as my feet pounded with impatience and my heart pounded even louder. Reaching there, under the cloak of invisibility, I hesitated. No – it was not wise to be in the courthouse. There was no telling what I would do if I saw her. I would wait until after.

After.

After the verdict was read.

After she was sentenced.

After she left the courthouse.

After she was taken to Blackgate.

I waited, and I waited. A day. Two. Out of sight. Out of mind. Change nothing, do nothing. Nothing but waiting.

" _Sir,_ " the call came. " _I've spotted the dispatcher._ "

I waited no longer.

 **ID – Create** blurred me to life inside a small prison cell. She wasn't facing me. Her blonde hair was a mess. Her prison overalls were hideous on her. It made my stomach burn again. I wanted to make the people who put her in such clothes _suffer_ –

"Eva Cabrera?"

The woman who appeared outside of her cell is stout. Ugly. Muscle-filled, shaved head and tattooed. A sneer is on her face. A crudely sharpened toothbrush is in her left hand, resting between her thumb and index finger.

"Carmine Falcone sends his regards."

It the moment history changes.

" _Now!"_

A small disturbance in the light. A switch is made. A blonde woman barely has time to be confused, before she is replaced by her exact body-double in the exact same clothes. The stout woman does not realize anything is amiss. She charges, shank slamming into the stomach, then removed and into the intestine, then removed and into the chest, then removed again, and into the throat.

My blood boils at the sight of her clutching her throat, gurgling blood.

 _It's not her. It's not her. It's not her. Remember – it's not her. It's not her._

The stout woman backs away as prison guards rush the room. They slam her against the floor, shouting and barking orders. The alarm rings. I give one look to the downed gurgling woman who, as far as the world is concerned, is a dying Eva Cabrera.

" _Mission complete sir."_

I swallowed the saliva in my throat uneasily.

" _Thank you."_

" _It was an honor… to serve you, Overlord… Commander."_

There are no retries for her, not while I've disabled them. Agent 42 of the Aphrodite Squadron dies as Eva Cabrera, a perfect biological match. I left the scene, no one ever the wiser, and I return to my Instant Dungeon. I return to my Instant Dungeon, where a blonde haired woman is staring at me fearfully, backing up away in confusion.

"W-what's going on?"

She was the one. She was here.

Not an illusion. Not a dream. Not a nightmare. Not something crafted to mock me.

She. Was. Here.

"I told you to be back by eight or you'd skip breakfast."

I could see it in the way her eyes stretched.

"Z-Zack?"

"Welcome back, mom." I managed to croak. "Welcome home."


	19. Reasons

**So, first off, I want to give MASSIVE thanks to every single person who purchased my book, Janus and Oblivion on Amazon! For those who loved it and gave reviews, you have my utmost appreciation, the sequel is currently in progress and will hopefully be out by Christmas. I'll take into consideration all the concerns that you had with it, and be sure to make the next book far better than the former. To those who expressed a desire to purchase, but lacked the monetary means to do so, I thank you all the same for your interest.**

 **As for sympathizing with my religious plight, I have to say, I genuinely don't know what to say. I never expected to find people on the fan-fiction site who actually possessed empathy for the plight of the authors of their story - and it actually shook my model of reality a bit. Thankfully, I'm out of that community for good, and although there will be some permanent rifts caused, I decided it's going to be worth it in the end.**

 **Also, many of my readers assumed that I'm from the U.S. for some reason - (is it because of the Americanisms in my writing, or publishing on amazon with an English name?). I'm not. I've actually never set foot there before. Hell English isn't even my mother tongue.**

 **That aside, people expressed concerns that I'd stop writing fan-fics now that I've started writing and publishing original works.**

 **Actually, it's likely to be the opposite. There are _still_ merits to fan-fiction in that there is a certain... _freedom_ to write. That said, let me make it loud and clear:**

 **LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR IS NOT ABANDONING FAN FICTION!**

 **Now that we've got that out of my system, I'm going to blatantly say that many people may not be fans of this chapter, (or the plot development) but, I assure you, none of it was created on a whim, and I would implore you to re-read chapters 3, 4 and 5 if you are in doubt of anything you see.**

 **With that said, let's get this show on the road.**

* * *

 **Unknown Location**

 **November 29**

 **11:34pm**

"Is everything ready?"

"The cameras are in place. The goods are set, and I feel like a million dollars."

Her father did not _snort_ , for Slade Wilson was not a man who snorted. Rather, the sound he gave was a grunt which possessed the barest hints of amusement. Low enough to barely be audible, it was not amusement meant to be shared. No, it was his personal amusement, the satisfaction he derived whenever he was close to completing a goal or eliminating a target that he allowed for brief, sparse moments of brevity. This was the closest she would get to seeing him outright laugh.

"Add three zeroes on that." He gestured to the twenty widescreen devices placed up. "Begin the stream."

The push of a button to the power. The whirring of machines and the flickering to life of the twenty widescreen smartscreens immediately began the auction. Twenty silhouettes appeared one after the other upon the screen, all of them potential buyers.

"I'll spare you the pointless greetings and cut out the unnecessary showmanship. We're here to deal."

The blackened silhouette on screen number 1 spoke, the voice muffled and rendered genderless and unidentifiable. "What do you have for us Deathstroke?"

Deathstroke made a small, barely noticeable gesture. The signal spurned her on, the past few weeks of practice learning how to operate the devices was finally coming to fruition. With a push of a button, an incredible audible _boom_ echoed across the room. Space itself was warped, the science of which neither her nor her father cared about so long as knowing the intrinsic mechanics were not necessary to make profit.

The wormhole she emerged from was visible to the cameras and devices. The experience was akin to being in a dream and suddenly opening a door to the bottom of the ocean. The sights were similar to being on a psychedelic trip – not that she knew what that felt like. Her father would kill her if he suspected she knew what that felt like.

She appeared, as expected, and the spiraling colors indicating warping of space-time vanished.

"What was that about unnecessary showmanship?" silhouette on screen number two spoke.

"If you think _demonstrations_ are unnecessary, you would be horrible at this line of business."

"Indeed." Silhouette on screen number sixteen spoke. "How did you come into possession of a Motherbox? Apokoliptian technology has been rather scarce."

"Information costs extra," Deathstroke said. "I have ten motherboxes. Wholesale. Alien super-computers to take you anywhere in the universe. Bidding starts at ten million dollars."

"Ten million five hundred thousand," said screen two.

"Eleven million," said screen fourteen.

"Eleven million two fifty," said screen three.

"Eleven million seven-fifty," said screen five.

"One-hundred million."

The announcement delivered by screen one sent the auction silent.

"We have a hundred million dollar bid." Deathstroke said.

She wondered if her father was having any difficulty hiding his amusement, as things were progressing entirely as he'd predicted to her that it would.

"One hundred million and one." Screen five said.

"One hundred million and three." Screen twelve said.

"Three hundred million."

Again, screen one's announcement brought silence. "The bid for the motherboxes is now at three hundred million dollars."

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Three hundred million and one," screen five said.

"Five hundred million."

"Fold."

One by one, she watched the silhouettes vanish upon the screen as people folded, until there was only one silhouette left.

"Seeing as you bid the highest and scared off everyone else with smaller pockets – you get the motherboxes."

"Where are the rest?"

She watched her father and was both marveled and inspired when she could not detect a single shift in his body movement from hearing the question.

"You think I have more?"

"Do not take me for a fool." Silhouette number one spoke. "I am aware you acquired the motherboxes from an Intergang hideout on the night the Consultant conducted his… _cleaning_ of Gotham City. I know for certain that they possessed more than just a meagre _ten_ motherboxes."

"Interesting theory."

"I want the rest."

"If I happen to stumble across another mysteriously hidden cache of Apokoliptan tech, I'll inform you." Deathstroke said. "For now, there are only ten in inventory, and you will have these ten once I get my money."

The conversation entered an uneasy silence. The silhouette was unmoving, and her father did not budge. Twelve terse seconds passed in this manner.

"The payment has been wired." silhouette one said. "Deliver it latest by Monday."

"Pleasure doing business with you."

Screen number one went blank. The room was silent once more, and she could feel a form of palpable tension.

"How did he kno–"

The sound of the gunshot staggered her. She dropped to the floor, stunned at the smoking barrel pointed in her direction. She never saw it leave his holster. Her legs became straw noodles, and her cheek felt wet.

She didn't move. She didn't _breathe_. The bullet had grazed the side of her face, and she knew that he didn't miss. He _never_ missed. If he wanted her dead, a bullet would be in her brain.

He turned to the screen, the screen where silhouette number one had been. He reached for a device, and pressed it against the screen and she watched as the device – an EMP – utterly fried it beyond recognition.

"He didn't." Her father said. "He was guessing we had more motherboxes. He was still connected, waiting for anything that would confirm his guesses. And you stupidly gave it to him."

 _He was?_ But – the screen was off – how – how could he have still been connected? Even if he was the richest man in Metropolis, there was no way he could have hacked into their device in the span of the auction – could there?

"I –" there was no excuse she could make. Ignorance was not a justifiable excuse. An apology was not acceptable either. There could only be one thing that followed mistakes: punishment.

"Stand." Came the order. "We're going to spar."

* * *

~~~~~~DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~~~

* * *

 **November 30** **th**

 **00:40am**

There were voices speaking but she couldn't see them. She could feel the softness of the matrass, hear the beeping of medical devices and smell the thick antiseptic that reeked in hospitals and artificially sterilized areas, yet, she could not see where she was. She knew her eyes were open. _She knew_ her eyelids were raised and her eyes were open, but she failed to see anything.

 _A blinding spell?_ She opened her mouth to restore her sight but no words escaped from her lips. A second attempt brought the same dilemma. By the third a chilling uncertainty crept into the back of her mind. By the twentieth time she tried and failed to speak, the uncertainty morphed into dread.

She clambered blindly out of her bed, crashing into something solid and metal. She patted herself down, and the fear became worse as she felt she was not in her own clothes. She rolled across the cold floor, ignoring the beeping and the sounds, and tried her best to calm her breathing. She tried to calm herself. She took deep, long breaths and tried to calm herself. She tried once more to speak.

Nothing.

 _I can't see_ – _and I can't speak –_

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she bumped into random objects as she tried to find her way around wherever she was. Her chest burned from how fast she could feel her heart beat and how hard it was to take in air.

 _Where am I? How did I get here – what – what was I doing?_

She was after someone. Hunting a person a target, someone who killed a dear friend of hers –Constantine. The person she was hunting – it was a boy.

The Consultant.

The memories rushed to her head immediately. She summoned the Spirit of Vengeance. She tracked the boy to a nightclub in Gotham City – and then the boy's demon –

There was an overwhelming fight. She got sent into space, to the _moon_. Then – nothing. She couldn't recall anything from that point onwards.

" _Miss Zatanna_ ," a mechanical voice made her flinch. " _I am detecting increased levels of blood pressure and elevated heart rates. You are currently in the Watchtower Medical Bay. I have taken the liberty to inform the Justice League about your awakening."_

The Watchtower? She was at the Watchtower? She wanted to ask _how_ she got here. Her lips opened and her tongue worked as normal, but no words escaped her lips, no matter how hard she tried. Deprived of her ability to see and speak, rescued by the very Justice League that scorned her mission –

The pill was too bitter to swallow.

" _Zatanna_ ," the calming nigh-mechanical voice of Martian Manhunter appeared within her head like a catchy earworm. " _Apologies for the intrusion. I am the only member of the Justice League present at the Watchtower as of now, however the others will soon return to discuss the issue._ "

The telepathic communication was something she was grateful for. " _Manhunter – what's going on? How did I get here? What issue?"_

" _You were found unconscious and floating in space."_

She was? " _How am I still alive?"_

" _The answer to that question is the issue the Justice League needs to discuss. Along with potential security concerns."_

Alarm bells were ringing in her head. " _Security concerns? What are the security concerns?_ "

" _Apologies, I cannot provide you with that answer."_

" _Why not?"_

" _Zatanna, I am concerned about what you were doing in space."_

" _I – I was fighting the Consultant."_

"… _the Consultant?"_

" _He's alive. He faked his death. His real name is Isaac Zachariah Cabrera – and I summoned the Spirit of Vengeance to –"_

"You _were the one who brought the Spectre?"_

She frowned. _"Yes – I needed him –"_

" _Miss Zatanna, for the past three weeks the Spectre has gone on a 'purge' throughout the African continent. He has killed thousands of politicians and the presidents of nations across thirty-six countries in the name of vengeance and justice. The Justice League has been focusing all of its efforts on stopping him, and for each day we fail, the body count doubles."_

Her fingers felt numb with cold.

 _No…_

" _In summoning the Spectre to stop the Consultant, you have inadvertently done more damage than the Consultant himself."_

 _No – no – no!_

This wasn't – this wasn't what she intended. Yes, it was true she unleashed the Spirit of Vengeance _without a host_ unto the planet, and true she did so without tethering him to anything but _herself_ – but the Spectre wouldn't kill indiscriminately.

No – it wasn't indiscriminate. He killed who he felt was guilty – and there were too many outliers and terms and conditions involved that anyone and everyone could have broken one standard of his extremely narrow guidelines. There was nothing to limit his powers, but there were two ways to stop him.

The first was for her to apply the counterspell she used to summon him. Easy enough. The second was for the tether holding him to this world to be destroyed. Also, easy enough.

Easy for anyone except her.

The implications of how she survived the vacuum of space became clear. The realization of why she was blind and mute forced its way into her mind. No doubt Manhunter realized it as well. She inhaled, and exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled.

" _I can fix this. I just need to be able to speak again, and then I can apply the counter-spell I used to summon him –"_

" _Miss Zatanna –"_

" _I can fix this –"_

" _I will inform the League of recent developments. Doctor Fate will also be here soon."_

" _Manhunter –_

" _I'm sorry, Miss Zatanna."_

Manhunter's soothing voice vanished from her mind. Her heart was roaring in her chest. She clenched her chest tightly and forced herself to breathe. _They won't – they won't kill me – this – this is the Justice League – they don't kill people._ Right? The Justice League did not kill under any circumstances. It was one of the rules binding them. They would not kill her simply because doing so would stop the Spectre – they didn't _trade lives_.

No. That wasn't true. _Superman_ didn't trade lives. _Batman_ didn't trade lives. Wonder Woman was no stranger to killing. Green Lantern and Aquaman were not squeamish about getting their hands dirty. Green Arrow used to kill before he mellowed out. Hawkman and Hawkwoman were willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. Doctor Fate certainly didn't care about the life of one person, and if it came down to a vote – a vote deciding that the life of one person was worth it to save thousands more – she knew how it would end.

She knew how she would end.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~~~~

* * *

 **Makarov Dreyer's Mansion**

 **Gotham City**

 **November 30** **th**

 **7:04 am**

"So this," I rose the object with the black screen into the air. "This is a smartphone. One of the staple technologies of the 21st century."

"I don't think sixteen years is enough to have made phones any different."

"Those are brave words, woman. Let's put it to the test."

I inserted the password, accessed the Legend Browser and Legacy Search Engine and typed the words "CAT PLAYING PIANO." A video of a tabby in a tuxedo came up, it's paws placed tenaciously on a long classical piano. I hit the play button.

"Oh my god."

"God has nothing to do with this."

"It's a cat playing a piano."

"I know.

"Why is a cat playing a piano?" She shook her head. "Wait, no, _how_ is a cat playing a piano?"

"Video editing. Meme culture. Posted for fame on social media."

"Social media?"

"Billions of people in the world willingly turn their life into a performance for the consumption and entertainment of other people, who pay them in the currency of likes."

"Can you buy anything with these… likes?"

"Only a false sense of accomplishment and a misguided placement of self-worth."

"That sounds stupid."

"It is."

"How do I sign up?"

"First, you're going to need an email."

We were at Makarov Dreyer's million dollar mansion located in Gotham City Uptown. For the most part, the mansion was empty, and it was only utilized because Makarov Dreyer needed a tangible address to live. The kitchen area was high-tech, every product within it was created by Legend Industries or by a company associated or belonging to Legend Industries.

Eva sat beside me in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. She didn't have any clothes, and she would rather prefer to wear mine than wear the perfectly sized outfits I'd created with **Conjuration**. She decided she'd buy some, eventually.

The smell of bacon and eggs sizzled in the kitchen, **Animated** to cook themselves perfectly. I'd maxed out the **Homestyle Cooking** skill so long ago, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually needed to use it.

A pair of plates floated and spun into the air just as the pans flipped. The fridge door seemed to fling itself open, and a large jug of orange juice soared out alongside two clean glasses. The glasses performed the bottle-cap challenge like Jackie-Chan and spun aside the cover of the orange juice, its contents pouring into them while they spun in the air, before stopping. The jug was recapped, and two glasses of orange juice arrived on the table beside two plates of eggs and bacon forming a smiley face.

Eva stared at the plate. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that."

"Flying plates and acrobatic breakfast?"

"I meant _magic_." She laughed. "Although acrobatic breakfast _is_ an exciting way to start the day. Maybe for dinner you'd make the cooked turkey march itself up into the plate?"

"That's unsanitary," I said shaking my head. "Better to make it fly instead."

"If the turkey flies, then what'll the roast pork do?"

"Fall with style."

"Like a wrestler jumping from the top turn-buckle?"

"You want me to make roast pork do an elbow-drop?" I placed my chin into my hands. "But it doesn't have any elbows."

"Would that be a problem?"

"…No."

We were able to look at each other and maintain a straight face for all of three seconds. She was the first to double-over with laughter, and my lips found themselves mimicking her. The sound of her laughter spurned me to laugh harder, and to realize just how much I'd missed _this sound_.

By the time we gathered enough of our wits to focus back on our food, it was almost getting cold. I couldn't complain. I'd take the taste of slightly cold bacon and eggs with her by my side over any hot meal in the world.

"Sho, ei wush shinking –" Eva said through a full mouth.

I pointed at her cheeks. "Swallow before speaking."

She rolled her eyes, but did. "You sound like one of my clients."

"First, that was imagery I _really_ did not need," my lips twitched. "Second, _former_ clients. _Former_. You're done with that life."

"Am I?"

For the first time since bringing her back from the future, my mother had an expression on her face I could not read. She'd devoured halfway into her breakfast, and there was an uncertainty that crept into the room.

"Of course you are. You don't have to sleep with people for money anymore."

"Instead I can just get it from you?"

My lips felt stapled together. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"I meant the _sex_ , not the money."

I stared at the plate. I wasn't sure how to answer that question. I couldn't wrap my head around it. "You _still_ want to sleep with random people?"

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I'm young, Zack. Young and with a great body, and I'd like to enjoy this while I can. Before I become old and wrinkly and invisible to people." She smiled. "Or at least before I die."

"You're not going to die."

"Everyone dies Zack."

" _Not_ _us_."

There was an edge to my words in which I couldn't figure out the cause. Maybe it was because she didn't know that I'd spent the last sixteen years agonizing over her death, that I blamed myself time and time again for her demise. She didn't know what I'd done or how far I'd go to make sure she was alive, alive and here with me – and to hear her talk about dying so casually –

"Zack, the past few hours of have been… intense." She smiled, but it was uneasy. The uneasiness of the smile bothered me.

"Who am I kidding? It's been crazy. From thinking I was going to die to meeting you and being told that magic is real and _time-travel_ – dear god, _time-travel_ like some Back-to-the-Future shtick – I was about ready to start laughing in your face and telling you to go fuck yourself."

"You didn't."

"I didn't because I wasn't sure. I was _playing_ along until I was sure that you really were – were him. My Zack. You travelled from _sixteen years_ in the future to save my life and bring me here."

She rubbed her shoulders. "Why?"

"What do you mean _why_?"

 _Why_? What sort of question was _why?_

"Why did you bring me sixteen years into the future?"

"I wanted my mother back."

"Zack," she bit her lip. "You don't _need_ a mother."

The house felt colder than I remembered it being. There was a sensation in my stomach like I'd been punched by a Kryptonian.

"You're seventeen now." She pointed at herself. "I'm _still_ twenty-one. That's what, five years difference?"

"Four."

"My math sucks," she said, chuckling. The attempt to lighten the mood didn't work. "There's a four year age difference. We're so close in age at this point that I can't be a _mother_ to you. I mean, just look around Zack –"

She gestured to the mansion.

"At seventeen I was depressed and smoking weed to try and get a black guy to fuck me because I believed they all had large –"

I coughed. She rubbed the back of her head sheepishly.

"My point is, I can't teach you anything you don't already know. You've done better than anything I can imagine. I can't guide you or be a role model or parental figure or... be a _mother._ "

"I didn't bring you to the future because I wanted a _mother_."

The words bubbling in the back of my throat were screaming to be unleashed. The years and years of thinking and sentiment, the unending guilt I felt as I always wondered whether or not it was my fault that she died. Whether or not I was responsible for everything that happened. From that moment where I messed around stupidly with my powers, to that moment I saw her one last time –

"I wanted – I want _you_."

The words didn't feel like they were enough. They couldn't encapsulate the full range of meaning behind years of internal turmoil. Behind the façade after façade created, a constant belief that I cared for no one and nothing, the belief that I was above being controlled by such overwhelming emotion.

"I missed _you_."

It wasn't it. Those words weren't what I wanted to say either. I knew the words, I knew them – but saying them, looking into her blue eyes and face and saying those words – there should be no reason why I _couldn't_ say them –

I needed to say them. I _had_ to say them. The burning in my stomach wouldn't stop until I said them.

"Zack… do… do you love me?"

"I've always loved you." The words were the truth. The full truth.

"No, Zack." I could see it again. That uneasiness that had been there from the beginning. "I should rephrase that," she took a breath.

"Are you _in_ love with me?"

The half-eaten eggs and bacon on the plate were easier to focus on than her face. Part of me knew from the beginning that I'd never seen Eva as a _mother-like_ figure. For as long as I could remember it was always the opposite. _I_ was the one who took care of _her_. I was the one who made her breakfast. I was the one who did her laundry and chores. I was the one who reminded her to brush her teeth, to wash her hands. I was the one who told her not to smoke and hid her cigarettes to stop her from doing so. I was the one who scolded her and tucked her into bed. I – I was always the one who did everything, who would do _anything_ for her.

In a way, I was the parent and she was the child. Except, the feelings that were involved were not something that simple. There had always been something else, hovering. Something that pumped my blood and filled my stomach with glee. Something that died in me when she was gone. That something, all along – I knew what it was.

"Zack? Are you…?"

I'd never told a direct lie to my mother for as long as I could remember. Omissions at times, yes, but never, not once, had I looked her in the face and told her a direct lie.

"Yes."

I _couldn't_.

"Oh."

The colors of the world and the vividness of the breakfast table seemed to have muted to me. I couldn't look up. I couldn't look at her. I didn't want to look at her.

"Zack – that's – I mean," she stumbled over her words. "I'm flattered but – you're – and I'm –" She stopped. "You can't. _I_ can't. We – we can't."

"Do you remember, that one night, years ago, when you were drunk and had sex with that man who was cheating on his paraplegic wife – you told me," the words were heavy. "You told me, it was me and you against the world – me and you – fuck everyone else, everything else – just me and you."

"Zack, I don't…"

"Just me and you remember? Me and you – you promised. You said it – you –"

"I was drunk, Zack. I don't – I don't remember what I said when I was drunk."

Ah. She… was drunk. Of course – of course –

"Do you even… love me at all?" I found myself asking, wondering. "Have –" a laugh almost escaped my lips. _Have I spent the last seventeen years of my life loving and mourning a woman to whom my existence is an afterthought?_

Three seconds passed and Eva didn't answer. The longer the silence stretched, the harder it became for me to swallow.

"Nothing? You're not going to say anything?"

"What do you want me to say, Zack?" Eva said. "I – I don't know."

" _You don't know?"_

"I never wanted to get knocked up!" she said, tossing her hands into the air. "You – you weren't exactly _planned_. When you were born I noticed you didn't cry as much as I thought and you picked up things quicker than normal, so I thought, maybe, maybe I could keep you –"

"But you were smart. Smarter than you should be – you were walking around at a year old and fully capable of concepts and ideas and things that you shouldn't know, and it – it _scared_ me. _You_ scared me. It wasn't normal, _you_ were anything but normal – and when you told me about being reincarnated – I didn't know how to handle that information. I didn't _want_ to handle it – I –"

Eva trailed off. "I went off and did my own things. I left you alone for hours to your own activities but you never complained about being abandoned or mentioned being hungry. I never punished or scolded you, because there was never anything to punish or scold. You saw the worst of me and never judged me – you – you _loved_ me in spite of the booze, the sex and horrible things I did. No, you _worshipped_ me in spite of how fucked up I was and how little attention I gave to you – and I – I don't know why."

Eva shifted plates of bacon aside and grabbed my hands. She held them, and looked into my eyes.

"What… what have I done to deserve your love?"

I gripped her palms.

"You made me happy."

Eva laughed. Her melodious laugh rang in my ears.

"Happy? We were dirt broke, living in slums –"

"And not a day passed that we didn't crack jokes about it."

"I was constantly bringing home random men for sex –"

"And I'd make them uncomfortable by sitting down and eating popcorn while you went at it."

Eva tried to stifle a snicker. "I always wondered where you got the popcorn from."

"Pocket dimension." I couldn't help the grin that tore on my face. "Remember that one guy who couldn't get it up because I kept staring at him?"

"How could I forget? The one with two-and-a-half inches. God he was pathetic."

"You forced him to cough up the entire contents of his wallet even though he didn't get any."

"Cause he was dumb enough to believe I charged by the minute." She quipped. "Sucker."

I found my lips stretching to their limits.

"You made every single day of a life that should have been filled with bitterness and disgust into a day filled with a new reason to laugh. How many people do you think can do that? How many people, can be in your shoes, and despite everything, still find a new reason each day to _laugh?_ "

A massacred family, a ruined childhood, hiding from a mafia boss, an unplanned pregnancy at twenty – and even though she had her flaws, even if she was selfish, I would take her – her and her alone, I would choose _her_ – over anyone else in the world to be in any situation, any predicament. No matter how bad it turned out, Eva Cabrera would find one thing to give me a reason to laugh, one way to make my lips turn into a smile.

And that was why I loved her.

"I love you, Eva Cabrera."

"Damn it Zack –"

"I love you."

"Stop saying that!"

"I can't – I'm going to keep saying it, and I'm going to jump off a really high building and scream it to the fucking air until the whole world hears it."

"We're _related_ –"

"On a technicality. I blew up my original body a while ago to escape the Justice League, and this new one I created doesn't have the same DNA, so I'm no longer biologically related to you."

"You – wait, _what?"_

"I love you." I grinned. "I'm going to start singing the Barney Song now."

"You _wouldn't_ –"

"I love you, you love me, _we're a happy family –"_

"Really Zack?"

"With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you, won't you say you love me t-"

Nothing prepared me for her lunge across the table nor for her lips.

She tasted of bacon, citrus and stale liquor. Her lips were softer than they possessed any right to be. Some part of my mind screamed that I was committing some grave, inordinate taboo, and another part of my mind found that I craved that which was forbidden. Her tongue slipped into my mouth with the ease and belayed years of experience that I could never hope to match, cementing it further in my mind that Eva was my Eve and her kiss was the forbidden fruit of Eden. I was the hapless Adam and her tongue was the serpent that would cast us from paradise.

When her tongue left, when her lips departed, I sat, staring, unable to speak, unable to find the words to speak, unable to think or question, instead, all I could focus on was her scent, the scent of cigarettes, alcohol and cheap perfume, the heavy scent that was familiar and foreign, intimate and strange, and irrevocably intoxicating.

"So," I cleared my throat. "Does this mean we're –"

"I don't know _what_ this means, Zack. I just – you're just –" Eva bit her lip. "Can we avoid putting any labels on this? For now? At least, until we figure it out. I can't believe I'm even _considering_ this… whatever it is."

I paused at that. "Will you tongue-rape me again if I keep singing the Barney song?"

"Zack…" Eva warned.

"How about if I choke on some bacon and require CPR?"

"Zack!"

"What if I choke on some bacon, _while_ singing the Barney song?"

"I'm going to hit the showers," Eva said, rolling her eyes. "I haven't had a good scrub in long while."

"Was that an invitation?"

Eva smirked at me. "Was it?"

"Wait – are you, are you messing with me?"

The smirk never left her face. "I don't know. Am I?"

She was definitely messing with me… right?

That wasn't an invitation to join her in the shower… right?

Right…?

 _Did I just get trolled by my own mother?_


	20. Consequences

**It should be criminal to enjoy jerking around my readers so much. There were many, many assumptions and cheers being thrown about considering last chapter's ending, so much that I genuinely almost feel bad about this chapter. I wondered how many people forget that the First-Person POV is often an unreliable narrator. Ah well ~**

 **Enjoy the new chapter!**

 **Oh, and if you haven't yet checked out my book, Janus and Oblivion on Amazon, be sure to give it a glance!**

 **Sir Lucifer is back and here to stay!**

* * *

 **Gotham City**

 **December 1** **st**

 **3:01 AM**

Gotham City was not as he remembered it.

The perpetual cloudiness was gone, and the city was sunnier. The pedestrians walked with an extra step, and he witnessed, for what seemed to be the first time, a man's wallet fall unto the ground, and three different people call the man's attention to it.

The local hot-dog stands possessed vendors giving out discounts, and the song of the ice-cream truck was actually followed by the laughter of children. The air was not thick with an oppressive smog, and instead, each and every intake of air was revitalizing in ways that was beyond explanation.

Then, there were _them_. The _legionnaires._ Patrolling the streets in a manner that should have been reminiscent of a police state, a manner that should have sent alarm bells ringing throughout the entirety of his being, yet, somehow, the connection did not link. There were legionnaires everywhere, some of them were shooting hoops with children, others were on skateboards in parks, performing three-sixties and fist-bumping teens, and the rest were taking selfies with pedestrians, helping the elderly cross the street, and assisting in the regulation of traffic.

Dreyer's men were everywhere in Gotham, and somehow, it was _better_ for it.

However, it made things far more difficult for _him_. As it stood, he was a wanted man, and he could not allow himself to be caught before he managed to complete his mission in the City. The rest of the Justice League was occupied with the Spectre situation, and he should have been assisting them, but right now, it was impossible for him to do so – not as he was.

Extending his hand, the prosthetic limbs he recently acquired from Lucius Fox were considerably well-made, however, they were tools. A tool could not be relied on as confidently as his own body, as something _he_ trained and worked meticulously on in order to ensure that he did not fail in his duties as the protector of this City. The Consultant was the one responsible for this, and following the Consultant's attack, Dreyer applied a continual amount of pressure upon him that eventually led to this situation.

"Excuse me, sir, you with the hoodie."

A truly troublesome predicament.

"Yes officer?"

"Some young women had concerns about a suspicious man in a hoodie and glasses moving around this area. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, but just to be sure, would you mind taking off your…"

The police officer stared at him for several seconds. Each one was an agony, and he immediately knew that his cover was blown.

"Wait – aren't you – Bruce Wayne?"

He turned tail and ran.

He did not expect the police officer to catch up with him effortlessly. He did not expect to see the Taser that slammed into his back and sent shocks travelling down his body. Again the taser came down, a second time, freezing his muscles. A third time, it continued. Enough that he understood immediately that there was something wrong. Police brutality was not uncommon in Gotham, but this was something else. The police officer shot something at him, and as it massively spread and hardened, he recognized it as containment foam meant for metahumans.

" _Alpha Division, this is Agent 31 of the Al'tair Squadron. Priority Target: Bruce Wayne, aka Batman, has been found. I repeat, priority target: Batman has been found."_

He felt a needle pierce the back of his neck, injecting his system with something that drained his strength. A blindfold placed over his eyes, and for the first time, Bruce Wayne found himself in a situation he could not fathom.

* * *

When the blindfold came off, he found himself sitting in a large white empty room. He was bolted securely to an iron chair that was welded to strong steel pipes on the floor, and attached to the concrete walls. It seemed that every single precautionary measure was being taken against him, yet, they did not remove his prosthetic limbs.

"Hello Mr. Wayne, or rather, should I say, Batman?"

He was expecting any significant number of his savvier villains to be responsible for this. Perhaps someone from his rogue's gallery put two-and-two together and discovered his identity. Yet, he was not at all prepared for yet the rise of another nemesis.

"Dreyer."

The young blond billionaire stood before him in a dark suit and flame-patterned tie. Two of his men, drabbed in their legionnaire outfit stood silently behind him, and the man slowly clapped his hands.

"I'm impressed you managed to make it into Gotham. I watched every airport, road and harbor for your arrival, all with police officers ready to take you into custody. I ensured your butler was followed at all times. Yet, you somehow _still_ managed to enter the city. I am truly impressed. Of course, considering you _are_ the Batman, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised."

"Look, Dreyer, this must be a misunderstanding. I'm not – me? A vigilante? That's not –"

"Let's not waste precious time on pretenses Bruce. I _know_ you're the Batman, and would you care to know how?"

Dreyer dipped his hands into the breast pocket of his suit, withdrawing from it a handkerchief which he used to polish his wristwatch.

"It starts with the question, is Batman human? The answer would be a simple yes. Hence, if Batman is human, does he need to sleep? To eat? To exercise? To train? To relax? The answers to this will come obviously."

"Then, we progress to a higher question. _Where does he do all these things?_ " He said, "It's simple – obvious actually. He has a base of operations, a place where he studies, and rests, and trains. A place to which he goes after a night's work, and a place where he leaves from to perform his business. And then, I asked the next question."

"How do I find this place?"

Bruce did not like where Dreyer was heading.

"The answer, was somewhat more difficult. It required thinking. Calculation. Numerous tries and misses. But, a strategy was formed. Another question."

" _How long does it take Batman to arrive at the scene of a crime?"_

"So, I watched, waited, observed hundreds of times when Batman appeared, where he appeared, and how long it took him to appear, relative to the start of the crime. The next step, of course, was calculating the speed of his vehicle – estimating and generating a top speed for how fast, and how slow, and then, using GPS camera's in the city, mapping out all the routes for which the black car of Batman was seen."

"The roads that the car was seen most frequently on, were part of the major roads that led to the _outskirts_ of Gotham. 82 out of a 100 times, the vehicle was witnessed passing these roads. The numbers were clear enough to make it certain that Batman lived on the outskirts of Gotham – which, as I realized later, was where the billionaire Bruce Wayne, also lived."

"Although it could have been a mere coincidence, I had to account for the fact that the masked vigilante had sponsors. His vehicle is top model and possesses high-end technology that cannot be attained cheaply. It is unlikely, given his seeming sense of justice, that he stole to acquire these gadgets – so that must mean, he has the money to purchase them legally."

"So, I felt, most likely, that Bruce Wayne was _sponsoring_ the crusader – until, I did the estimates of how long it took Batman to get to the scene of a crime with his car going at max speed, and crossed-referenced it with how long it would take, to get from the Wayne Manor to that location, at top speed."

"The times were a near-perfect match."

It couldn't have been that easy.

"Seven days." Dreyer said. "That's how long it took me to uncover this. Seven. Days."

 _That's not possible._ _It's –_

"Although other possibilities existed, such as the Batman being your driver, butler, or perhaps even a secret roommate, no other candidate matched the exact height and physical build as you."

"As amusing as it would be to watch you scurry around in the shadows in some attempt to uncover the mastermind behind your recent woes – it has dragged on for long enough, with your absolutely disappointing performance which makes me laugh when I hear your epithet of World's Greatest Detective."

Dreyer outstretched his hands.

"Hence – it is I."

It took a second for it to click.

"You – you're the one responsible for the _investigations_ – the allegations of fraud and tax evasion."

"You _are_ guilty of fraud Mr. Wayne. You have misappropriated millions of dollars from your own company for the purpose of vigilantism, and under the guise of 'miscellaneous expenses' that neither your investors nor board are aware of. While I'm sure you believe your intentions were noble, it is no different from the C.E.O. of a company deciding to take millions out of it to sponsor a voyage of bikini-clad college girls on a trip to find Atlantis, and then claiming it was 'a necessary expense.'"

Dreyer shook his head. "Regardless, my goal is complete. I have reduced the credibility of your name to a point that it is synonymous with hypocrisy and incompetence. Your stocks fell significantly after the allegations, and I purchased them, one after the other. As it stands, I am the majority shareholder of Wayne Enterprises, a company, which very soon, shall find itself merging with a much larger, much better – Legend Industries. And you, Mr. Wayne, shall find yourself enduring a lengthy trial and going to jail for a long, _long_ time."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, Mr. Wayne. It's a half-completed checklist _._ "

There were a lot of questions on his mind, but one stood out above every other.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," he said, "I have nothing to fear from you."

"As far as the world is concerned, I am the savior of Gotham and you are its disgraced son. Should you go around spreading rumors of me being some criminal mastermind, at best, people will assume it is a bad joke and will chide you on making such utterances. At worst, they will assume you are merely a drowning man attempting to drag others into the depths with him. Your name will only be dragged further in the mud as your reputation plummets and never rises."

He smiled.

"And should your 'friends' decide to pay me a visit, it would be on what grounds? They cannot arrest me – they do not possess that authority. They cannot make claims or assertions without any proof or justifiable evidence, and even if they _do_ have that, I can acquire the best team of lawyers in the world and walk out a free man with the image of someone undergoing false persecution, whilst their credibility plummets."

Bruce hated every word that came from his mouth. He had never hated the truth before.

"The only way you can stop me, is either through equally dubious means, making you no better than I am –or, it would be to kill me." Dreyer slowly pocketed his handkerchief. "But as we both know – you do not believe that it is your right to decide who lives and who dies."

Makarov Dreyer stretched his hands and checked his watch. "As I have breakfast to attend with someone important, this is the end of our meeting. Goodbye, Mr. Wayne. I will not be seeing you at the trial."

Dreyer clapped twice.

"Hand Mr. Wayne over to the authorities, and let due diligence be done."

"Wait," Bruce called. "Why? Why are you doing this? You've been making Gotham _better_ , you genuinely want to _improve_ it. So why go to such lengths to remove me from the picture?"

Makarov Dreyer stood at the door, hesitating for a second, before smiling.

"I'm not a comic book villain Mr. Wayne. You don't have to know my reasons."

The door slammed shut behind him, a needle plunged itself back into Bruce's neck, and the world went dark.

* * *

~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~

* * *

 **Kansas**

 **December 1** **st**

 **5:01 AM**

 _Blood. Blood everywhere_.

 _No matter where she looked, she saw them. Men, women – dying. Their breaths came out in raspy gasps, their eyes widened beyond all human possibility. They reached out to her – as she stood, alone, being encroached by them._

" _H-Help… us…"_

 _She tried. She tried._

 _But she didn't. Couldn't. She was frozen in place, watching, as one by one, violently and without warning, ribcages tore open from chests in a mash of blood and flesh. They screamed. She screamed. The pumping red organ, still covered in thick, flowing blood, flew out from their confines. They all landed on her, shot towards her – covering her in it – burying her amidst a thousand hearts._

 _She couldn't breathe. Her hand went up, grasping, pleading, for someone, anyone to come and save her –_

 _And then a young man appeared on top the mound. Demonic blonde hair, fangs, and horrifying glowing eyes._

" _Hello Batgirl – are you ready to continue from where we left off?"_

 _And she was pinned again. Head deep inside water – drowning, suffocating – as clawed hands reached for her behind, tearing aside her outfit –_

" _This time…" the voice chuckled "We're going all the way~"_

 _No –_

 _No –_

"STOP! STOP!"

"Barbara!"

"GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME!"

"Barbara calm down!"

It took her a few seconds to get full control of her bearings, panting desperately, her eyes squinted in the darkness – and she froze when she saw blonde hair.

"No – you –"

Crippling fear overcame her as she lunged forward, a desperate roar escaping her lips as she tackled the blonde to the ground. Her hands quickly grasped around the slender neck, ready to choke the life out of –

"Barbara!"

She made out the voice – it was – feminine. Slowly, she came to the realization that the neck was far too sturdy to be human, and far too slender to belong to a male. Recognition overcame her as the blonde hair revealed itself – long, far too long, and the face was soft – too soft, feminine.

"K-K-Kara?"

The realization as to who she was attacking hit her like a wave of cold water. "Ohmygod – Kara – I'm – I'm so, _so_ sorry – I –" She quickly got off the girl, her entire body soaked with sweat, her breathing still unsteady.

"It's alright," Kara murmured. "It takes a lot to actually choke _me_ to death." The blonde girl looked uncertain. "You were… screaming in your sleep."

Her blood went chilled. "I – I'm so sorry – did I wake you up – your folks –"

Kara shook her head. "It's just me and Aunt Martha here Barbara. She's a _really_ sound sleeper."

Barbara took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh of relief. In lieu of the suddenly prominent anti-vigilantism movement, she'd been invited as a guest into the Kent home, to stay and regain her bearings and be safe from significant danger whilst the Justice League thought about what to do about it – not that they could do anything with their hands busy against the Spectre.

She didn't want to spit on that generosity with her problems, and as Gotham City was finding itself lacking a need for heroes more and more, she'd never felt so… _lost_ before.

"Barbara – are you – are you okay?"

She let out a tired smile. "I'm fine – it's just – with everything that's happened so far –" She shook her head. "I'll – I'll get it out of my system."

Kara still looked uncertain. "What is it, Kara?"

"The way you were screaming – and the way you reacted when I woke you –" Her blood ran cold again. "Barbara – did someone… did someone…"

 _Mocking laughter. Head under water. Hand caressing her nether regions, stroking against her sensitive parts. Her struggle increasing to desperation._

 _A mocking smile._

" _I stole your panties."_

"I-I don't want to talk about it."

Kara took in a sharp breath. "Barbara, if you were ra –"

"I wasn't."

It was more forceful than she intended.

"Barbara –"

Her friend nodded in slow understanding, before moving to embrace her in a tight hug. She was holding back the most of her strength, and yet, Barbara felt herself unable to escape the tight embrace.

"You know you can tell me anything right?"

"I know."

"And if you need to get anything off your chest?"

"You'll be here."

"You bet I will."

There was so much she wanted to get off her chest. So much she wanted to say. She wanted to curl up into a ball and scream until her voice went hoarse. She did none of these things. She couldn't afford to do any of these things. Not now. Probably not ever.

"You're… scared that this guy is still out there, aren't you?"

Her body went rigid.

"This… Consultant. You don't think he's dead either, do you?"

She didn't want to admit it. She didn't even want to consider the possibility. But she knew for certain that it was true.

"No." She said, gritting her teeth "He – he's still out there."

The Justice League had been sketchy about it, in the same way they had flat out refused Nightwing, Robin and her from seeing Bruce. They _suspected_ that the Consultant had somehow survived – that he was somehow still out there, despite turning his own body into a bomb.

It worried her.

She squeezed Kara tighter than before, as tight as she could just so she could have some form of comfort. The thought – the realization that the Consultant was supposedly a teenager even younger than her – it didn't bring her peace. It didn't give her comfort. It only made her more scared. Someone that young was that monstrous, and no doubt filled to the brim with all sorts of hormones which will impair any good judgment. What sort of monster would he become when he aged to an adult? When he reached his thirties?

"Do you want… revenge?"

Revenge? No – no – that was not the path that Bruce had taught her. That was not the path that her father had taught her. What she wanted to see, was justice – justice rendered and served.

"He killed all those people and crippled Bruce – but, no – I want to see him put behind bars for what he did."

Kara's grip went slightly tighter. "We will."

"Thank you Kara."

In the end, things would get better. As long as they had hope, Bruce would find a way to bounce back, the anti-vigilantism movement would die out, and everything would return to normal.

Everything would return to normal.

* * *

~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~

* * *

 **Makarov Dreyer's Mansion**

 **Gotham City**

 **1** **st** **December**

 **9:24 AM**

He was not pleased.

"Eva, I'd like you to meet my butler and second-in-command."

Regardless of his personal feelings on the matter, there was no reason for him to voice his displeasure. Rather, he performed to the best of his ability the role that was expected of him. A formal bow, a tilt of his head, and possessing the air and grace of the gentleman he was supposed to be, he saluted her.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Eva. I am Nezumi, and I serve Master Zack."

"I didn't know you had a butler." The woman, clad in a towel, hanging off the side of his master, opened her mouth to display her ignorance.

"He died when I fought against god's vengeance – long story – so when I went back in time to save you, I made tiny changes to bring him back."

Indeed, he still remembered his failure to protect his master. He remembered how he stood before that being known as the Spectre, and he _failed_. He – _failed!_ The failure to protect his creator burned an ineffable hole in the center of his being. It spurned him to find ways and manners to ensure that he would never fail his master again, to ensure that his master's goals would all be accomplished without fail, to ensure, without a doubt, that _his master never stood alone._

Indeed, he knew that his master had gone back in time in order to preserve him. There was an extra enchantment carved into his soul that did not exist before: _**Heracles' Law.**_ An enchantment, which if he recalled from the memories of his master and the fictional worlds he loved, originated from a fictional counterpart of the ancient Greco-Roman Hero, Heracles. The enchantment made it so he possessed _twelve lives_ , and each time he died, he could no longer be killed by the same thing that previously destroyed him.

The enchantment had not affected history, for Nezumi had never died before. His first life was taken at the hands of the Spectre, and now, _he would not let that happen again._ He would not! He would not fail against the spirit, and if tasked by his master to ascend past the heavens and fight with god himself, Nezumi would charge without hesitation.

"Nezumi, this is Eva. She's –"

"Your mother, yes, I am aware Master Zack."

"Well, she's technically _more_ than that."

His master kissed Delilah. The Jezebel gave him a smile that Nezumi would never give to begging man, dying of an incurable disease. Something sparked at him, and it burned at him to ask, to question it, because there was no way his master should not have been able to see it. There was no way, his master, who manipulated the emotions of the fickle-minded humans around him and possessed goals far beyond what their ice-cube sized brains could comprehend.

Could this woman even understand the vastness of his master's plans? Did she grasp the scale and scope of the revolutionary change that the man she so carelessly caressed was capable of? Did she even possess an _iota_ of interest in the manner of which he would accomplish his goals? Did she intend to aid him in those goals, or was her designation permanently intended to be the femme fatale whose only function was to offer advice in hindsight and drain his master of seed?

"Is something wrong, Nezumi?"

The immaculate butler did not hesitate. "My apologies Master Zack, I am merely… curious, as to the manner in which Mistress Eva will be included in your plans."

"Plans?" the Jezebel asked, continuing to display her ignorance at an alarming rate.

"Master Zack's plans for world optimization." He clarified. "Starting with Gotham City, and ultimately ending in a glorious galactic warfare where he stands supreme above all beings in the Universe."

The Jezebel detached her arm from him. "…what?"

His master provided him a look that conveyed annoyance. "I was going to get around to telling you about that, before Nezumi managed to spoil the surprise."

"Wait, _what?_ You – you have a plan to conquer the world? Like – like some action movie villain?"

"Optimize." Nezumi corrected. "Conquering the world is a task Master Zack can accomplish in his sleep. Optimizing the world however, is far different, and something no... _action movie villain_ has the brainpower or nuance to achieve effectively."

"You're rather chatty today Nezumi." His master provided him with another long look. He did not falter.

"Apologies, Master Zack – I merely assumed Mistress Eva would want to know of all your achievements till date, in order to truly _understand_ the scope of what you have done, and how impressive it is."

"More impressive than having a billionaire alter-ego at seventeen?"

The effort he utilized to keep from retorting bitterly to such an asinine question would have powered Gotham for years. "Yes."

There was a familiar _Ping!_

His master seemed to have received a new quest notification. His weekly meetings with the young _Evelyn_. There was a functional, fully capable individual who provided merit to his master in the form of intellectual stimulation. The boy, Lucian, provided his master with knowledge of the mindset of his demographic age of such individuals in Gotham, and the woman, Naomi, was an acceptable source of stress relief that his master could utilize. That family was more than enough, and each one contributed something to him without taking something _from_ him. He could not say the same for the Jezebel.

"That reminds me… I've got to figure out how to introduce you to Naomi and her family. They don't really 'know' about my magic yet."

"Purity has kids?"

"Well she doesn't go by Purity anymore, and yes, she has two. One of them was named after you."

The Jezebel smirked. "Did you sleep with her?"

"She's thirteen."

"…And?"

"I'm not going to have sex with a thirteen year old girl."

The Jezebel grinned. "Just pretend your genders are reversed. Problem solved."

"I… that's… wait, are you trolling me again?"

The Delilah smiled. "Am I?"

Nezumi cleared his throat. "Very well Master Zack, it would not be wise to leave a young woman waiting. In the meanwhile, I shall give Mistress Eva a tour of the City and acquire her a new wardrobe to suite her tastes."

"Did someone say, _shopping?!_ "

His master grinned. "Thanks Nezumi. Make sure she feels right at home, and give her anything she asks."

Bowing, as he should, he responded. "As you command, Master Zack."

His master kissed the Delilah, tongues battling for several seconds before he smiled at her in a manner that Nezumi found physically revolting.

"I'll be back soon! Love you!"

The portal that split space opened, and his master stepped through. The Delilah blew him a kiss, and once he caught it in an exaggerated manner across his chest, it closed. The Dreyer Mansion was thus left only to himself and _her_.

"So when does our shopping trip start? There are _sooo_ many things I want to buy –"

"It does not."

The woman blinked. Clearly she was nowhere near the intellectual genius his master was.

"I don't understand."

"Master Zack is incapable of seeing it, which I assume is caused by his childhood obsession with you that recedes his emotional intelligence to that of a toddler with a rattle." Nezumi began. "However, I am not quite so blind. Master Zack is a phenomenal man, but he does have his flaws and he is prone to error. As his Butler, no, as his _creation_ – I am here to ensure those errors do not become fatal."

"I – I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this."

Did he truly have to simplify things to the basest level?

"You have no emotional connection to Master Zack."

"What are you talking about? He's my _son_ –"

"A relationship you possessed for no more than a year, and one in which you upheld zero responsibilities associated with a parental figure." Nezumi said.

He tapped the side of his head slowly. "Master Zack may forget, but he granted me access to all of his memories. He may also forget, but I have empathic powers granting upon me the ability to sense emotions."

He cracked his neck. The Jezebel flinched.

"Reviewing from what I have – _you_ _do_ _not_ _deserve_ to stand by Master Zack's side. You are not worthy to lick the sand that falls from his feet, yet alone fall on your knees and beg for his attention."

"That's –"

" **I. Am. Not. Done. Talking.** "

The burst of killing intent was enough to send Delilah to her knees. Weak. So pitifully weak. This was the person who birthed his master, yet, she could not even withstand a fraction of a fraction of a decimal of his power? This was the person his master wanted to stand beside him as he conquered the universe?

"Master Zack is blinded to all your imperfections, so he fails to notice, or willfully ignores discrepancies in your behavior. The manner you hold him, like a professional escort guiding her partner. The manner you kiss him, an actress forced into a sex scene against her will."

He took two steps forward, and slowly adjusting his tie.

"You do not love him, and rather than admit this to his face – you choose to play a game of charades because you are terrified of losing the benefits derived from being with him, and terrified of the uncertainty of your future should he ever realize that the woman he loves feels nothing for him."

Jezebel shook like a leaf before him, and he felt his revulsion rise.

"There are two options before you now. You will listen to them, and you will decide, and if you so wish, you will tell Master Zack of this conversation. If you understand me, nod once."

Jezebel nodded.

"The first option is that you continue with this farce, you continue to contribute the barest minimum of affection to Master Zack, continue onwards for as much as you can until he eventually realizes it, however long that takes. He sees that your kisses are passionate, but never too passionate. Your concerns for his wellbeing are present, but never fully present. Your hugs are stilted, your smiles empty. Slowly, until he comes to realize the truth: you do not love him as he loves you – that you cannot, and that you pretended to do so, because you were scared of telling him the truth."

"The thing with you humans is that your emotions are easily inverted. Passionate love can so easily morph into fervent hatred. Although Master Zack will not kill you, for there is still love within him, he will remove you from existence. He will overwrite your soul until you become everything he wishes you to be, and you cease to be what you were. Then, he will make himself forget he ever did such, and he will continue, in blissful ignorance, in the fabricated love of his own making."

Jezebel's eyes widened.

"The second choice, is that you end this charade immediately. You tell him the truth, and you demand, no, you plead for him to understand. You explain to him that you cannot see him as anything more than a son, and end it. Yes, Master Zack may be hurt, my knowledge of your human emotions tells me that logic and emotion rarely parley, but in the long-run, you will have what you want. He will give you riches and send you away, where you can have a fresh start, and live your life of debauchery however you so desire."

It was almost effortless to see the turning cogs in her mind. No, not _almost_ effortless, _utterly_ effortless. She was an open book, a blatant screen, readable and visible for his complete understanding.

"I will not force you to make any decisions. However, know that if the decision you make is one that will in one-way or another, be the most long-term and damaging for Master Zack – know that I will take actions into my own hands, and even if it costs me my existence – _ **I will end you.**_ "

The Jezebel was shaking.

"Do you understand?"

A simple nod. Nezumi straightened his back and properly adjusted his white gloves.

"Now, as for your new wardrobe, do you prefer Versace, Gucci, or Louis Vuitton?"


	21. Apotheosis

**Okay, okay, I _really_ need to stop vanishing like this, but life, ah life, she is a fickle mistress. So let's get this out of the way again: I AM NOT DEAD. WHAT IS DEAD (INSIDE) MAY NEVER DIE! Cough. Er-hem. Right.**

 **Apologies for the long hiatus. Between writing the sequel for my novel, getting hospitalized for acute chest syndrome and ridiculously stupid family drama involving an extended family member's true sexual orientation being outed, these past few months have been hectic. On the upside, I'm no longer the black sheep of my family, so I suppose that's going well for me. (Atheist -} Gay. Christian logic. Isn't it great?)**

 **I want to thank everyone who purchased a copy of my book, Janus and Oblivion, you guys mean the fucking world to me and I mean it. Every little bit has helped me get further and further away from the general insanity of life, and now I'm looking towards actually being able to share rent with a roommate for the first time in my life. I'm doing my best to make sure that the sequel doesn't disappoint, and will be far better and larger than the first book.**

 **I'd also like to give one hell of a shout out to everyone who reads and enjoys my work, here I started writing edgy stuff to get away from shitty reality, and to my surprise, the things I wrote and thought about were actually enjoyed by others. You guys are the real MVPs!**

 **So before I reveal any more information that people could probably use to track me, here's the latest chapter of DC - Remastered Edition. Trigger warnings apply and what-not, but come on, we all know what to expect by now don't we?**

 **Let's go ~!**

* * *

She wanted to be anywhere else but here.

Sitting in an air-conditioned limousine, complete with a bar and Jacuzzi, being driven around by a roguishly good-looking butler. It was ironic, really. A week ago the only way she'd have had this experience was if she was leeching off some fat prick, metaphorically and literally, who wanted to spend his money on women because he lacked the sufficient social skills to land a suitable date. She would have had zero qualms about the appearance of the man, as long as both the money, and the eventual sex was good. The plus side came with the prick's wristwatch and wallet to which she would pawn off to Old Man Rick who wise courteous enough to never ask her where the items originated came from.

She wanted to be anywhere else but here.

Ironic, really. There was no fat prick to leech off on right now. The stocked mini-fridge was hers to do with as she pleased, the butler driving the vehicle was assigned a task to listen to her whims, albeit reluctantly. He seemed more intent on killing her than driving her around, what with his odd white hair, pale visage and oddly Asian-esque features. He was dedicated, that was for certain, and she couldn't exactly claim that his anger was misplaced.

She wanted to be anywhere else but here.

Opening the mini-fridge, she was glad to find herself some liquor. Not the cheap, piss-poor quality booze she'd get some unlucky shmuck to buy her after a casual smile and unbuttoning the top of her shirt. Not the half-decent drinks Purity, Ecstacy and Virility would scrounge together and purchase to celebrate a hard day's work. It was the good stuff. The expensive stuff. Brand names she once remembered seeing in her father's cabinet, lined up in shelves, the type that her brother used to sneak off and drink while doing his best to imitate tasting connoisseurs with an obnoxious French accent that was mangled with Spanish and Italian.

She grabbed the champagne bottle. Three times she untwisted the cork and filled the limo with the familiar _pop_ of celebratory cheer. Like that one night, she remembered. The night she and the girls partied so hard she woke up in a prison cell. Her assumptions had been that she slashed some perv's tire, or maybe she was passed out naked in the middle of a park again. It hadn't been any of that. No, it was just time finally catching up to her. Just fate, once more patting her cheeks and telling her that the road of her life was out of commission.

She didn't bother with a glass as she downed the champagne. It chilled her mouth and burned at the back of her throat. Strong. Coughing twice, she wiped away the excess from her lips with the back of her hand and squinted as she looked at the brand name. _LEGACY._ Fifty three percent alcohol content. That was new. She was certain she'd never seen this particular brand before. Considering her relationship with liquor, it meant it was new. Or, at least, something that was _new_ in the frame of the sixteen years she'd magically leapt into the future.

A snort escaped her at the thought. Her gaze idly turned by to the landscape, to the world, zooming by. She knew for certain that this was the future. They'd passed by a park, and there were children, actually playing on the swings. There were fancy cars parked in places where they should have been jacked and stripped of every single ornament, down to the decorative paint. People were bustling left and right with some sort of vigor or purpose, as if they had something to actually look forward too.

It wasn't as she knew it. Nothing was as she remembered it. Even the traffic was abysmal, as if a large population of the city decided to move elsewhere. Or perhaps that was it? The reason there were more skyscrapers up and about and even more under construction, the reason there were an increasing amount of shiny new buildings, vehicles, and roads being developed was that all the assholes left, and only the ones that genuinely cared about the city remained.

Again, a snort escaped her at the thought. She held the champagne bottle close to her, and gulped down another long, hard swig. _People who cared about the city_. She'd belonged to that classification, once upon a time. Her father did as well. In the end, the love they had for the city didn't do fuck-all. The city was a parasitic leech, sucking and taking and taking, demanding more, and no matter how much you gave it, it was never enough. Once you'd given it your all, it'd discard you and move on to someone else foolish enough to do the same.

A third time, she took a swig. The warmth in her chest and building onto her face told her that the alcohol content warning on the drink was utter bullshit. She couldn't remember the last time she got tipsy from just three swigs of some bloody champagne.

The limo came to a stop. She could see the giant signboard indicating an entrance to some sort of shopping mall. _Legendary Malls._ What was up with that word being everywhere? Legend this, legend that, legacy this – where were the good ol' _Wayne_ signboards? Sixteen years surely wasn't enough to make them go bankrupt. Even _she_ couldn't see how they'd lost all that fortune in less than two decades.

"We've arrived, Mistress Eva."

At the very least, the Butler's tone was cordial. She would like to claim that she was scared of him, but really, she wasn't. Just startled. It wasn't everyday someone spoke and you felt gravity command your ass to kiss the ground. As far as threats went, however, she would admit that his _was_ the most unique. Compared to the druggies who'd put a knife on her throat, the gangbangers who cocked a pistol against her skull, the mafia cronies who'd whip out their fisticuffs and belts, or just the random thug who'd try to corner her and argue that you can't rape someone who has sex for money, the Butler did a very good job with his threat. She'd rate him an A+.

Her side door opened, and he stood, in that two-tailed coat with excellently spiffing white gloves, complete with the chauffeur's hat, if it weren't for his utterly emotionless expression, she'd almost believe she was in the care of a perfect gentleman.

Getting out of the limo, she took in the light of the sun's glare. She could have sworn that Gotham City and the clouds had a blood-pact never to abandon each other. The city was _always_ cloudy. Always murky. The summers were barely hot enough to justify skinny-dipping, and the winters were always freezing enough to contemplate self-immolation. What month was it anyway? October? September? It felt like it.

"We're at Legendary Malls," the Butler said. "A high-end shopping district. As Master Zack owns the property, you may purchase anything you wish. _Within reason_."

She could almost see him policing her with his gaze. It was endearing, in a way, that Zack found someone like him. Someone loyal. Perhaps, if the Butler was female, Zack wouldn't have come up to her with his notion. He wouldn't have seen the need to say or do what he did. Things would have been so much easier.

"What would you like to purchase first?"

There was only one thing to really answer to that. With budget being a non-issue, as much as she would like to explore gowns and shoes, there was only one thing she wanted first. "Lingerie."

He didn't even blink. Wow. Either he possessed extremely good control over his emotions, he was asexual. "This way, to the frivolous undergarments session."

Her lips twitched at the comment. Perhaps he _did_ have a sense of humor. She couldn't really tell. With the whole, condemning her and threatening to kill her thing, she hadn't gotten the chance to even know anything about him. What did Zack say his name was again?

The Butler was already moving, and she followed him. He walked at a pace that wasn't exactly brisk, but wasn't exactly slow either. Catching and matching his stride was somewhat of a challenge, and there was no way that it wasn't intentional.

"How many girlfriends does Zack have?"

His stride did not falter for a second. "None."

She already figured that was the answer to the question. Clearly he wouldn't be… _romantically invested_ in her if he had other paramours. She walked and fired off her next question as fast as she could. "How many _has_ he had?"

"None."

She wasn't happy to hear that. "Why?"

The Butler's stride did not falter, but it did _slow_. Just a bit. "Master Zack had far more important things to do. Building his empire and progressing towards his ultimate goal. Relationships were not a priority."

She nodded her head. "So Zacky couldn't find anyone he liked, or anyone that liked him."

The Butler seemed as if he wanted to deny it. She could tell. His stride slowed a bit more until she was able to match him without trying. "Master Zack is focused on his _goals_. Grand to which the mind of numerous feeble humans are unable to comprehend. The breadth of his plans will exceed centuries in time, and the width shall surpass the edges of the universe in scale. No mortal lifespan will be enough, so no mortal partners suitable. Few mortals have the capability to commit or devote themselves wholly to a plan that is not theirs, for an amount of time that is not defined, and for a purpose that they cannot understand."

There he went, using terms like _feeble humans_ and _mortals_. It sounded as though he were not human himself. Of course, it was entirely unlikely. Here she was, sixteen years into future, where aliens flew in the sky in skin-tight clothing, so why should non-human beings be a surprise?

"So, Zack has remained alone because he doesn't believe there's anyone who'll be with him to complete his goals?"

The Butler gave her a sidelong glance as they approached the security checkpoint. The men and women stationed there were wearing black and orange uniforms with _LEGEND INDUSTRIES_ strewed across the back and sewn into logos on the short sleeves. He gave them a glance, and at once, they let them approach without having to go through the metal detectors. It made her wonder just how far Zack's influence went in the city.

"When you humans undergo your ritual of bonding, you swear a vow with the words 'till death do us part'." The Butler said. "A significant percentage of you renege on those words less than half a decade after uttering them. Those who do not, still anticipate the expiration of that contract in the form of the termination of your existence."

The automatic doors swung open. "Master Zack has no desire to ever terminate his existence. Hence, to be with him is to contemplate a contract that does not, will not, and shall never expire. Not even in the wake of the entropy of the universe or the cessation of reality itself. A contract, which stipulates 'to eternity and infinity, across time and space.'"

She couldn't imagine it. She couldn't even envision it. She'd been alive for only twenty-one years, and she certainly could not picture engaging in a relationship with _one person_ and being loyal to that _one person_ , for not ten years, not fifty years, not a _hundred_ years, not a _thousand_ years, not a _hundred thousand years_ , but _forever_.

" _You,_ " the word was filled with disdain. "Are clearly lacking that conviction. You do not have a _smidge_ of it. Merely another one of the many reasons you are, and will forever be, _unfit_ for Master Zack."

She didn't _want_ to be fit for him. She didn't _want_ to be his partner. She didn't _feel_ anything for him. Not sexually, and she'd never had any maternal instincts so she couldn't tell him that she felt something for him as a mother.

It was different, when he was a young, cute, smart baby walking around, saying and doing things that no one his age had any right to say or do. It was scary at times, but _endearing_. _Adorable._ He was small enough to cuddle right beside her like a teddy-bear, and make her forget a day of assholes doing and saying asshole things just because she used her body to make a living and liked it.

She could have told him the truth from the start. She _should_ have told him the truth from the start. Except he kept repeating those damn three words and being so _corny –_

What was she supposed to do? Turn him down? Break the heart of someone who bloody _time-travelled_ sixteenyears into the past just to bring her into his life? What would she do if he decided to kick her out? She didn't _know_ anyone in this future-Gotham. She didn't know _anything_ about how the world was. She didn't have any money, wasn't sure if the roads and streets and signs were all still the same. At best, she'd find herself standing on the side of the road in a tight skirt to make some cash, only to be arrested or realize that no one patronized that sort of thing anymore. At worst, her ignorance would finally be her undoing as only god knew what would happen to her in this crazy new world.

"The lingerie store."

They came to a stop in front of their destination. Women's underwear hung on plain mannequins unabashedly, visible through the windows with the fancy sign of: _Elizabeth's Secrets_ emblazoned above the store. That wasn't what caught her eye, however. Rather, it was the sparseness of the place. People were moving back and forth, but nearly everyone seemed to huddle and gather in front of what seemed to be an electronics ship, standing and whispering back and forth amidst themselves.

She pointed. "Is that… normal?"

"Perhaps there is some trivial matter going on that has caught the public eye," the Butler said.

She was curious to know what it was. She was _already_ ignorant of many things in this strange future, and the best way to stop being ignorant was to learn. Approaching the huddled mass of people, she could hear the Butler slightly mutter something underneath his breath. She ignored him and approached, scanning the brief crowd for a young man and tapping him on his shoulder.

The man turned, clearly irritated at being disturbed. She watched his irritation melt away as he took in her features. Then came the customary three seconds of dumbstruck expression she received when meeting most people for the first time. When they drank in her physical appearance and realized they either wanted to be her or be in her.

"Hello," she said. "I saw the crowd and was wondering what's going on."

He stumbled over words for a few seconds. "O-of course!" clearing his throat. "It – it – er, everyone's watching the news –"

The news? Had the news magically become engrossing enough to stop people from shopping and have them huddle up in a crowd to talk? "Good news or bad news?"

The man's face fell. "Unbelievable news."

She turned her gaze unto the screen, and blinked as she saw words that she never believed she would see in her lifetime.

 _EX-BILLIONARE BRUCE WAYNE PLEADS GUILTY – IS THE WAYNE REIGN OVER?_

The words struck her, and her lips opened into a small laugh. She shook her head, turning away from the store with an odd sense of disbelief. Who would ever imagine a future where the Waynes were no longer in charge of Gotham? A future where a Wayne was on trial and sentenced to prison?

She wanted to be anywhere else but here.

* * *

~DC – Remastered Edition ~

* * *

"Hurry Kara!" she roared over the wind.

"I'm already going as fast as I can!"

Flying in Supergirl's arms was not her preferred method of transportation. The wind howled into her face and her hair would be a frazzled mess when she landed, but there was no time to waste. Fuddling with her communicator, it took concentrated effort to grab it in her hands and not let it slip as they soared across the sky. "Dick! Listen, I know you're still mad at Bruce, but we need you back in Gotham! I'm on my way there!"

She'd barely sent the message before the image of a Red-R appeared on the screen, another person communicating. " _You've seen the news._ "

" _Everyone_ has seen the news, Tim!"

" _What was he thinking? Why did he plead guilty?"_

She knew the answer to that question. "Because… it's Bruce." Technically, he _was_ guilty. No, it was not even on a _technicality_. While it was true that the Wayne Enterprises were created by the Waynes, it did not give the right for a major shareholder, yet alone the CEO, to surreptitiously add lines in budget plans and documents that the other shareholders were unaware of. It was _illegal_ to take a massive amount of funds from the company, and justify it as minor miscellaneous expenses.

The Watchtower was funded majorly by Wayne Industries. The gadgets they used, the technology they employed to fight crime, and most of the high-tech weaponry and utilities were all funded directly from hidden lines upon lines that very few people were even aware existed. No matter how much she respected Bruce and _understood_ the importance of those funds, what he did was still considered embezzlement.

"It's Bruce. You know why he had to Tim."

" _He could have mounted a suitable defense."_

"Tim, Bruce can't lie on the stand."

" _If he did –_ "

"If he did he wouldn't be _Bruce_ , Tim!"

That was the truth. If Bruce pleaded not-guilty and the case went to trial, he would be placed under oath to explain where those funds vanished to. At that point he had two options: commit perjury by lying to the court and the whole world, or telling the truth, and revealing his secret identity. A mix of a lie and the truth wasn't feasible. It wouldn't be _Bruce Wayne_ if he did the very thing criminals did and lied under oath. She didn't want that to happen. She didn't want to see the Bruce Wayne she knew… _change_ his uncompromising morals.

" _I can hear the wind rushing. Where are you?_ "

"Kara's flying me over to Gotham. I'll be there in a few minutes."

" _What for?_ "

The question stunned her. "What do you mean _what for?_ Bruce is going to jail!"

" _Are you planning on breaking him out?_ "

 _Breaking him out_? A jailbreak? One of the very things she hated criminals doing, reducing the justice system to a farce of itself by constantly having criminals escape time and again with the aid of outside assistance. Was she going to do that, _now?_ Why, because it was Bruce? She wanted to argue that it was different and Bruce _wasn't_ a criminal and _didn't_ deserve to be locked up, but wouldn't that just be special pleading?

"No – I – I'm not."

" _Do you have a plan to overturn the jury's decision?_ "

She grit her teeth. "Damn it Tim! I'm thinking of something! What's wrong with you? Shouldn't you also be thinking–"

" _I have been thinking Barb,"_ Tim's voice went low. " _All I've done for the past few weeks is think. Think and think and think. You don't get it. You haven't seen it. You left Gotham after the prison break. You haven't seen what it is now, how much…_ better _it's been. I never thought it'd ever be this…_ beautiful _Barb. I fought,_ we _fought, to accomplish the dream of making it something better. Now, it's everything I've dreamed of, no, it's_ better _than everything I've dreamed of. "_ Tim's voice cracked. _"And it hurts. It hurts Barb. It hurts that nothing we did was responsible for making things better. Nothing. No – just one man with deep pockets and a private army. One. Man._ "

"That – that's not true and you know it! We've saved people's lives, Tim! We've stopped people from dying, we've – we've made a difference…" her words sounded hollow even to her own ears. "We – we –"

" _We were fighting the symptoms of the disease Barb. We never touched the cause. Dreyer has."_

"We – we can still –"

" _Barb, we've lost._ " Tim's voice was hollow. " _Dreyer isn't a villain. We can't arrest him because he hasn't committed any crimes. There's nothing we can do against him, and if we're planning on sabotaging the one person who managed to make Gotham City feel livable again after The Consultant sent things to hell, then we might as well hang up our costumes and join Bruce in Blackgate._ "

Her lips were dry. "Tim. You don't… you don't mean that."

" _I'm sorry Barb. I know you must feel it too."_

Her heart buried itself in her throat. The coldness of her palms and tightness of her lungs made it hard to breathe. For the longest time, she, and her dad, and Bruce – they threw their _all_ into making the city a better place. They trained daily, risked life and limb, broke bones, bled, suffered and toiled all for the belief that they were making a difference. The belief that because of them, a husband would make it to his wife, a woman would walk the street without fear, and one didn't have to find themselves stabbed over the loose change in a thin wallet.

They wanted to believe they were making a difference. Yet, crime rates weren't dropping significantly. They'd dip once or twice, but return back to their averages. More and more criminals came out of the woodwork, each more dangerous or more psychotic than the last. Criminals tossed into prison ended up back on the streets within months due to a ridiculous level of prison breaks. They would fight and re-capture these criminals, and on and on the cycle continued, seemingly without end.

Then the Consultant arrived and killed _every last gang_ in the city. Every petty thug or inexperienced mafia recruit, every major organized crime boss and drug-pusher. Those left were too scared to go back to crime. A criminal, a _mass murderer_ , a potential _rapist_ and he'd effectively done what Batman had started out to do with his dark cowl and approaches of intimidation and fear.

 _How was that fair?_

And Dreyer came, sweeping in on the tragedy, reeling in on the shock and using it to transform the City into something else. Helping people, providing safe places for people. Telling people, _you are your own hero_. Now the same people they dedicated their lives and fought to save were boycotting them. Telling them to leave. Telling them they were _unwanted_.

 _How was it fair?_

"Barbara, are you okay?"

Kara's voice was almost lost with the wind. The police commissioner's daughter forced herself to nod. Forced herself to open her mouth and speak. "I'm fine."

"Your blood pressure and heart rate are –"

"It's just the adrenaline."

" _Barb? You there?_ "

"I'm here."

" _Legend Industries bought out everything owned by Wayne Enterprises once Bruce's stocks fell. As things are, we might lose the Wayne Manor. Bruce's contingency plan for in case that were ever to happen –"_

"That _won't_ happen." That would be the final nail in the coffin. "What – what about the Justice League? They can help –"

" _They're still fighting the Spectre in Africa._ "

She grit her teeth. _Why? Why now?_ "Then we – if we can meet with Dreyer and talk to him, _explain_ things to him –"

" _I'm done Barb."_

"Tim, listen to me, we can still –"

" _Call Disconnected."_

She stared at her communication device. The lump in her throat grew as she attempted to reconnect, only to receive the automated female voice message: " _The line you are attempting to connect with is no longer reachable."_

"Damn it Tim!"

" _The line you are attempting to connect with is no longer reachable."_

"You can't do this Tim! This – we can't just leave Bruce to rot in jail! You stupid, stubborn, ungrateful little –"

" _The line you are attempting to connect with is no longer reachable."_

She bit down on her lower-lip, almost grinding it. How could he? How could he just give up? They were just supposed to accept it? Accept that they'd lost? Accept that Bruce would serve jail-time for trying his damned hardest to make the world a better place? How could he? _How could he?_

"Barb… we're almost there. You… you might want to see this."

"What? We're flying over the city, what could –" her breath hitched.

Skyscrapers that towered into the sky. Clean, crisp air that almost had a scented tint of freshly baked bread. Large fields overrun with solar panels and giant white windmills nonchalantly moving in tandem with the morning breeze. Zero traffic. Zero smog. Zero clouds. One hundred percent positive energy.

"Kara, what are we doing in Metropolis?"

"Barb… this is Gotham."

No. No way. This wasn't just _beautiful_. This was _impossible_. _Impossible_. You couldn't transform Gotham City from a hell-hole to a paradise in a matter of weeks. You couldn't. Ignoring the logistics, the politics, the red tape and bureaucracy, it took years – _years –_ of fighting, and struggle and sweat and blood and tears just to make it one percent less terrible. You couldn't use a couple of _weeks_ to turn it into _this._

They landed on the giant "H" symbol of a Wayne Towers helipad, and she hit the ground running, gritting her teeth as she ignored Kara's call and took a good look of what had become of her home.

The cars moving smoothly through thin traffic, an electric bullet-train soaring overhead on the railways, the legionnaire vehicles and bikes patrolling the streets in tandem with the police, the giant electronic billboards on massive buildings providing a Tokyo-esque feel to the city, the people riding on bicycles and using expensive sports cars as taxis –

Then, on those billboards, a blonde-haired man with a dashing smile stood, his hand extended towards a group of people, the words written in bold: **YOU ARE YOUR OWN HERO.** Underneath it, in smaller font, were more words: **GOTHAM – THE CITY OF LEGENDS.**

"This… is Gotham."

Even after speaking the words, it was hard to believe them. Harder still to look upon this developing, advanced marvel of a city and believe that it was the same place she grew up as a little girl, wary about walking down an empty street at night and clutching her pepper spray for reassurance.

"Barb… what are you going to do now?"

Staring at another signboard, a large blinking red 'X' crossed on the symbol of a bat, and the words underneath **GOTHAM SAYS NO TO VIGILANTES!** Barbara Gordon laughed an empty, forced laugh, before she buried her face into her hands.

"I don't know."

* * *

~~~DC – Remastered Edition ~~~

* * *

 **Legendary Malls**

 **Exclusive VIP Lounge**

His patience was running thin with the Jezebel. There she sat, frivolously celebrating the adornments of relatively worthless-but-valuable metals that decorated her neck and fingers, oohing and ahhing as she put on several human garments of varying lengths and tightness while preening in front of a mirror like a male peacock displaying it's plumage.

"Oh, this gown looks _lovely_! But I can't decide if I should take the black one or the red one…" the Jezebel suddenly smacked herself on the side of the head. "Oh silly me! I forgot, I can actually afford both!"

"Oui, mademoiselle," the faux-French speaking attendant responded. "Is there anything else you would like to add?"

"Monsieur, a lady needs a proper pair of shoes to match her outfit does she not?"

"As you wish mademoiselle, we have the finest collection of –"

He cleared his throat.

"The finest collection of –"

A second time he cleared his throat. The attendant's gaze landed on him, and like the feeble-minded human he was, his life flashed before his eyes a thousand times as a fraction of killing intent entered the air. Jittering, losing his footing and remembering his place, the being stumbled on the words that would excuse himself from the presence of a superior being. "I – er, excuse me mademoiselle, n-nature calls."

The man shuffled out of the room at a speed that resembled a human hurdle-racer. The door slammed shut behind him, and a casual movement of his finger ensured that the key turned and prevented entry… _or exit._

The Jezebel let out a sigh as she reached for what was her third bottle of exquisite alcohol in the past _six hours_ , plopped down against the pink leather sitting-furniture and greedily imbibed the material that was known to lead to the destruction of an organ humans required to properly function.

"I was wondering when you'd finally ruin my fun."

"Have you forgotten our _agreement_?"

The Jezebel took another swing of her alcohol, before crossing her legs as she sighed, her pink cheeks smiling in bliss at the jewels adorning her fingers. "Did you know? I used to hate jewelry when I was younger. I felt golden bangles and diamond necklaces were just fancy handcuffs and dog-collars. Mama said I'd get used to wearing them." She snorted out loud. " _You have to look like a presentable lady Eva!_ She'd say to me. All dolled up and beautiful, ready to be the next piece played in papa's political game _."_

"That is not the answer I required."

"Did Zack ever tell you about how I became this way?" She swayed the bottle in her hand left to right. "Carmine Falcone killed my family. My brothers – Zack's uncles – Diego and Miguel. My mama, Luciana, and my papa…" she let out a dry snort. "I loved them. They were my family. They were my family and I loved them. Miguel was asthmatic, but he was so bone-headed that he'd smoke cigars in front of papa's men just so they wouldn't think he was weak. He joined track and field, running his hardest and winning a competition, only to collapse wheezing. I remember him with an oxygen mask on as we sat in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I called him an idiot and he'd smile at me. Smile because it was his way to say fuck you to the world. He was an idiot. A stupid, lovable idiot."

She laughed. "And Diego? He was smoother than butter on a champagne bottle. He could charm the pants off anyone. I mean anyone. Papa hated him for that. I remember laughing when the priest that'd been invited to 'pray the gay away' was found naked in Diego's room. My mother didn't find it funny. I thought it was hilarious at the time." She took another swig of her alcohol. "I'd sit in on his bed with him and his boyfriend Juan while he did my hair, and Juan did my nails. We talked about everything from boys to sex. Miguel would walk in and Juan would creep him out by making kissing faces. They'd trade barbs and come up with stuff so crude and vulgar it'd have me beet red and covering my face with a pillow and trying not to die of embarrassment."

She swished the contents of her liquor bottle back and forth, staring at it with almost half-glazed eyes. He could tell from the fluctuating emotions he felt in the woman. The emotions that his master desperately desired from her but could not get. When speaking about her brothers – his master's uncles – there was something _there_.

"You never told Master Zack any of this."

Her shoulders rose and dropped. "It never came up. It's not like I ever sat down and talked about my life with him. Not like I _wanted_ to remember my life before all of _this_."

She gestured to herself, gesturing to the bottle. "Zack says he loves me as I am? That's fucked. _I_ don't fucking love me as I am. This – this fucking thing –" she slammed the alcohol on the table. "I need this so I don't _remember_. So at least, when I sleep, I don't dream of my mother choking on three cocks while my brothers lay on the ground with their heads bashed open. So I don't have dreams of my father's final moments, and his begging voice – _please, not my Luciana. Please – please – please, please, not my Luciana._ "

The jeze- woman, laughed a barking laugh. "I never got it. Those men, while they fucked my mother, they looked so fucking happy. They smiled like it was the best thing they'd ever done. I don't get it. When I had sex for the first time, I didn't get what all the hype was about. I just remembered facing a wall while the fucker jackhammered away and grunted. It wasn't magical. It wasn't special. I thought maybe it was because I'd done it with the wrong person. So I found another person. It was the same. So I went on. And on. And on. Faking moans and sounds just so the men would think they'd done something and wouldn't come back looking for me to pick up their broken egos once they realized I couldn't feel anything from them. I haven't felt anything in a long, long time."

She was not lying. She was not lying and it irritated him. He possessed memories of Master Zack's younger years. Excellent memories of them. He never focused on the lovemaking sessions of the jeze-woman in the memories for obvious reasons, but playing them back in his mind, slowly, meticulously –

Perfectly timed moans at recurrent intervals. Similar reactions and lines across multiple partners. The exact phrases used when the deed was done. The exact lines used before the deed occurred. The same bored apathy that occurred following each climax. One would easily look at those things and mistake them as symptoms of excessive desire for sex.

It wasn't. It slipped his notice. No, not that it slipped his notice, they were things that were only obvious when one knew the signs to look for. The reverse-psychology of it, of disguising apathy with fervor – no one would have noticed it.

Not even himself.

"And the reason you are telling me this?"

"I want to know why those men were so fucking happy. Why I've never felt that happiness. I've searched and I've searched, I've slept with so many guys it's a miracle I'm not dead from STDs, day in and day out – no matter what, no matter how, no matter where or when – I've never gotten it. That – that happiness. That twisted _smile_."

The Butler was silent. Staring at the mortal woman before him, the emptiness in her eyes, the bitterness in her tone, the swiveling mix of guilt-confusion-hate-desire that swiveled in her chest. "Why are you telling _me?_ "

"Can you imagine if I told anyone else?" she snorted. "They'd tell me I'm sick. They'd tell me I need _therapy_. They'd tell me that what I feel isn't normal. That wanting to know or understand why a group of fuckers found it so fun to fuck my mother to death isn't normal. I don't care about that. I just want to _know_. I want to get into their heads. I want to _understand_."

Sadism. Schadenfreude. Desire. Humans resorting to their basic nature as wild, savage beasts. The allure of having power of an inferior being. These were answers he could have easily given her. Yet, these answers would have been too simple. Too one dimensional.

"Come."

"H-h-hey – what are you doi-"

Effortlessly dragging the woman out of the VIP room and back into the open area of Legendary Malls, he crossed his arms and gestured the moving pedestrian shoppers. "Select a target."

"Select? I – I don't understand –"

"You want to know why those men had that glee? Then select a target."

"I can't just –"

"I am spending valuable time I could be utilizing to further Master Zack's goals here, entertaining the misconceptions derived from your childhood tragedy. Do not make me repeat myself a third time. _Select a target,_ **now** _._ "

She flinched, her hand rapidly going straight towards the first random male that caught her eye. "Him."

The man was scraggly, but not aesthetically displeasing by human standards. Garbed in casual shirt and shorts, with thick bushy black hair and a small stubble, the passerby's fate was decided the second he had been selected.

Slapping his hands, he summoned up his Master's power. " **ID Create.** "

Gone was the shopping complex and pedestrians. Gone was the lights, the noises, the bustle and hustle of people. A space of darkness and a floor of glimmering tiles replacing it, the only three denizens in the pocket dimension being himself, the woman, and the target.

"Wha – what the hell is going on?"

The target flicked his head left and right, his heart was beating faster, blood and adrenaline pumping through his body at an accelerated rate. The scent of fear wafted off him like thick fat boar placed into a burning fire. "In this space," he told the woman. "Anything you ask for you can have. Any desire you wish for will happen. Any statement you make will become true. You are god. Now do as a god does."

He erased his existence from the room following his declaration. As far as both mortals were aware, they were the only two beings in the tiny space provided, and that was entirely his decision.

"Hey! Wait! Butler! Um… fuck, I don't even know your name!"

"W-who – who are you talking to?" the target said. "Did you do this?"

The woman cursed underneath her breath. "No – I just – I mean –"

"A-are you some sort of supervillain or something? Listen – I don't have much money – and – and if you kidnap me, no one's going to pay any ransom money –"

"A supervillain? Look – just be quiet for a minute I'm trying to think –"

The target's mouth slammed shut with an audible _clack_. His eyes went wide as he grabbed at his lips, trying to force them to open. "Mmmph – mmmmph!"

"Oh my god," she covered her mouth with her hand. "I didn't mean – I mean, you can talk –"

The target's mouth opened, and he scrambled backwards. "You – you did this! Who – who are you? Please – I – I have a family –"

"I'm not going to hurt you –"

"Let me out of here! Let – let me out!"

"I don't know how! Just calm down let me –"

The target froze. His eyes relaxed. They ceased their panic. His frantic movements fell into a state of ease as his shoulders dropped. "Calm…"

The woman swore. "Oh fuck! That wasn't what I –"

"Fuck…" The man took several steps, and lunged.

"What? NO! Stop!"

"Stop…"

The target stopped moving. He stood, motionless and silent. Blank eyes stared out into the abyss, and once more, the woman cursed underneath her breath. "Can you – go back to normal?"

"What… is… normal…?"

The Butler watched the proceedings, taking note of the time. The woman attempted to revert the target to his 'default' state, only for that to fail. Attempting to revert him to 'himself' failed as well, leaving the target standing in a plain space with all the emotional range and intelligence of a robot.

Thirty minutes of nothingness and the woman began to complain, to call out for him to take her out of this place. One hour later and she sat on the floor, grumbling and muttering about the insanity of it all. Three hours later and she realized she could materialize objects into the room. Alcohol was the first. Cigarettes were the second. A chair came in third. Neither telephones nor televisions worked within the space, and she discarded them soon after. Magazines were all blank and lacking in pictures, and she discarded them too. There was little she could do for amusement, little to do to pass the time. The target remained standing, motionless until given a command. At the four hour mark, as her face began to redden from intoxication, she gave her first command.

"Can you do a funny dance?"

The target imitated a monkey, making gestures and movements for the woman's amusement. Things continued in that pattern, for several hours. Dance, sing, do stunts, _amuse me._ The amusement stage continued until it reached a particular peak moment.

"I don't understand how any of this is supposed to make me understand. I just wanted to know what it feels like to –"The woman stopped talking. She stared at herself, at her body, and then stared at the target. "Swap genders."

* * *

XXXXXX

* * *

A man's body was odd. The lack of weight on her chest didn't feel right. The sensation of something dangling between her legs was foreign. Musculature however, was amazing. She felt strong. She felt… _powerful_.

Then there was the sight of the 'woman' in front of her. Something felt wrong. Something should have been wrong. As far as she knew, she wasn't bisexual. Sure she'd toyed around and experimented here and there, but she wasn't interested in women. Yet, the mere sight of one sent something burning and primal through her. Something ached, and she felt it in between 'her' legs. Most and all other thoughts didn't matter except getting rid of the burning. Images popped into her mind, hundreds upon thousands, and without her own understanding, she found herself taking several steps forward.

The events that proceeded where confusing, even to her. It was different, as a man. If anything, it was simultaneously more and less overwhelming. There were too little erogenous zones to be stimulated. Though the _desire_ burned, and that single part burned, the rest of the body did not deliver the same sensations.

The difference wasn't in the gender. No, if anything, sex as a man was far less pleasurable than sex as a woman. The difference came at the sight of confusion in the stranger's eyes, as 'she' had chosen that exact moment to regain her senses. The confusion at being a woman, and the further confusion at being a woman pinned down by a man.

"She" couldn't even struggle. The difference in physical strength was baffling. The barest minimum effort, was needed, and, at that moment, at realizing that the 'man' beneath her couldn't struggle and fight back, a laugh escaped her lips.

A laugh escaped her lips as her hips slammed forward, and all at once, the understanding dawned.

 _It isn't the sex. It was never about the sex._

The action of pounding back and forth was boring and tedious. She didn't enjoy it in the slightest. No, it wasn't the grating action of the sex that had made those men smile in the manner they'd did. It wasn't that sex was the amazing thing that'd given them glee.

 _It was the power._

The power. The power. Holding power over something. Someone. That was why she laughed. It was _funny_ , watching someone try to struggle against you. People had always said that bullying was for those with low self-esteem and family issues, that bullying would take you nowhere. But the truth was the opposite. Bullies understood power. Bullies understood the social dynamics. They would climb up, rapidly, in environments were the understanding and utilization of those dynamics was the difference between success and failure.

 _Power._

All along she had it wrong. She had it wrong. Gods for so fucking long she had it wrong. This stupid feeling of power and control was intoxicating. _Intoxicating._

She wanted – she wanted –

"I believe that is all we have time for today."

 _What?_

The 'woman' underneath her vanished. The cock and balls vanished and a familiar weight rested on her chest once more. The room was gone. The silence was gone. Instead, she was standing back in the middle of the shopping mall, and the man she'd picked was scratching his head, looking like someone lost. He shrugged, twice, before walking away, continuing his shopping as if he was not just previously a woman underneath her –

The Butler stood beside her, crossing his arms, his expression as unreadable as ever. Something burned and itched at the back of her throat. "Why – you didn't let me finish! You –"

"Have you gotten your answer?"

She burning in the back of her throat turned into a lump that lodged firmly in it. There was no way he did not already know the answer to the question. "Why… why does it feel… _so good?_ "

"Power equals control. Those who strive for power seek to overcome powerlessness. It is a compensation for inadequacy, weakness, and fear" The Butler gave her a side glance. "The powerlessness you felt from watching Carmine Falcone destroy your family never left you. For years, you have sought out ways to overcome it in sex, alcohol and decadence, but never succeeded. That is because the only cure for powerlessness, is power itself."

Her heart thumped in her chest. Each breath felt tighter than it was. Tighter than it should have been. Forcing her hands to stop shaking was a difficult task. The alcohol and inebriation she'd felt was fading away, little by little, and the more she thought over his words, the more she realized she didn't understand. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you… do that… for me?"

"Do not flatter yourself. Everything I do, everything I have always done, is for Master Zack." The Butler looked at her. His eyes gleamed red, almost as if piercing through her mortal shell and gazing deep to the soul within.

"I still do not believe you are worthy of Master Zack. No, certainly not. However… I now understand that you seek power. And that desire can make you a valuable asset in completing Master Zack's goals."

She didn't deny it. She _did_ want power. She wanted it again. She wanted to feel those intoxicating throes that gripped her mind and sent shivers racing down her spine. She would do anything to feel that again.

"You'll help me… gain power?"

"No."

"But you just said –"

"I am rather clear on what I said. I said your desire for power _can_ make you into a valuable asset. I did not say it _makes you_ one now. As you are, I have no intention to assist you. I will give you a task. If you can complete this task on your own, you will have gained power, and _perhaps_ I may be lenient on your decision to stay with Master Zack."

The Butler reached for his pocket device before she could complain. The device projected an image directly from the camera of a young, attractive woman with dark black hair, fit, _gorgeous_ body that made _her_ feel insecure, wearing what seemed to be a bikini with an American flag while holding a golden rope, a sword and a shield.

"Who is that?"

"This is Wonder Woman. By the opinion of several humans, she is the most powerful female warrior on the face of this planet."

"Wow."

"Your task is to destroy her."

She snapped her neck up to the Butler. There was no amusement on his face. "You're joking." She said easily. "How am I supposed to do something like that?"

"In the words of a quote from Master Zack's most challenging digital entertainment," The Butler spoke. "Git. Gud."

The environment around them melted away. There was the succinct feeling of something horribly, horribly wrong as she found herself on a beach, listening to the crashing of the waves and the cries of seagulls, and more than that, the fact that she suddenly had neither any clothes nor any jewelry on her. And most tragically, she had no alcohol on her or near her at all.

The sound of horses neighing and galloping began to approach with increasingly rapid speed, and her heart pounded ever faster in her chest. "I felt the intrusion from over there!"

Three women, clad in what she could only describe as armor that wouldn't be out of place in Ancient Greece, riding on brown horses stopped in front of her. One had a bow and arrow pointed in her direction, the other wielded a spear, and the last one had a sword sheathed at her side.

The spear found itself aimed directly at her throat as she rose her hands up in immediate surrender.

"State your name, sister, and how you have come to find yourself at the shores of Themyscira."

Eva Cabrera realized, at that moment, she wanted to be anywhere but here.


End file.
